


111-555-XXXX

by Buckie



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Anxiety, Blood, Body Dysphoria, Butchering of Portuguese, Cannon continuation, Canon-Typical Violence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Language, M/M, Mild Gore, More plot than porn, PTSD, Raiden Being a Little Bitch, Sam being a little shit, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Spoilers, Tendency to go a little OOC, m/m - Freeform, post mgr
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-11
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-01 04:15:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 40,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5191979
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckie/pseuds/Buckie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Click. </p><p>"Hello?" Nothing but the sound of breathing on the other end of the line.</p><p>Set one year after the end of MGRising, Raiden starts getting strange calls in the middle of the night from an unknown number. He soon reunites with an old rival he'd thought was long dead.</p><p>"It's not your fault, menino bonito. The world works that way sometimes, I guess."</p><p>Rated for language, violence and potential smut in later chapters if I ever get around to doing them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Click.

“Hello?”

Nothing but the sound of breathing on the other end of the line. It had been like this for a few weeks now and Raiden was becoming impatient. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d been woken up in the middle of the night by his phone ringing. And that’s all it ever was on the other end, just breathing. Sometimes there’d be an intake of breath as if the person on the other end was getting ready to start talking about something. Other times there was a chuckle or a sigh or a hissing breath. Raiden wasn’t particularly perturbed by it, it wasn’t something that frightened him, but it wasn’t exactly fun to be woken up at- he looked at the clock- 3am for the third night in a row.

“Look,” he said to the silence on the other side, “I don’t know who you are or what your game is, but if you could stop calling me at 3am that’d be just peachy,” he said through gritted teeth. There was an undiscernible mummer from the other side before a click and silence. Raiden glared at the bright light of his phone, it flashed “unknown” on the screen before displaying the time and then finally fading to black. He placed the phone back on his bedside table, rolled over, and went back to sleep.

That’s how it was for the next month, sometimes it was every night, sometimes it was three times in the same night, sometimes Raiden would wake up and find that his phone hadn’t rung, there were even a couple times when he was contacted during the day. It was… unnerving to say the least. Every time he’d ask who it was, why they were doing this or how the hell they got his number. Sometimes he’d spew threats and other times he’d not even speak, just listen to the breathing on the other end and question just what the hell he was doing with his life at 2am on a Wednesday morning…

“Another bad night’s sleep, Raiden?” Courtney spoke to him on his codec when he was out one day fighting the seemingly endless stream of cyborgs sent after him.

“A little busy right now, Courtney,” he replied, cutting an enemy in half. He faltered, losing balance momentarily on his right leg.

“I can see that. I can also see that you’re not your best. Which is why I asked-” he growled down the codec at her “-take your time.”

He did. He sliced, cut, diced and head-butted his way through the battle. Whoever said that Raiden was graceful when combating enemies had obviously never seen him when he was pissed off or exhausted.

When the final enemy was eliminated and Raiden had had his fill of electrolytes and he finally felt awake again, he took a moment to sheath his blade and look at the damage he had caused. Not good. Perhaps it was best to get out of this area as soon as possible. Maybe he should get the local authorities to send the bill to Maverick. He smirked at the thought. He ran and found a safe spot on a nearby rooftop.

“So, are you ever going to answer my question?” Courtney’s near shrill voice broke the silence of the sunset over this usually busy city. Raiden sighed. No rest for the wicked.

“Yes, Courtney. Another bad night’s sleep.”

“Mysterious caller? No number, no name, just heavy breathing and the occasional sigh?”

“Yes.” He was tired, he wanted to just enjoy the sunset and then go home and, hopefully, get a good night’s sleep.

“Maybe it’s a stalker,” Courtney said excitedly. Nobody in their right mind should be excited about that being a possibility.

Raiden rolled his eyes, “Maybe,” he said exasperatedly. He looked out and admired the different shades of red and yellow in the sky. It was moments like this that made him feel whole again, human. With his pain receptors on, he’d forgotten how the wind felt on what was left on his face. He inhaled the cool air, closed his eyes, and hummed.

“Maybe it’s a secret admirer,” Courtney sighed longingly. Moment ruined. Raiden didn’t even bother responding. “Have you given your phone number out to anyone recently? Maybe it’s someone you met on a missio- uh- _outing_ of yours.”

“I try not to give my number out to anyone, Courtney, let alone creeps that would just breathe down the phone at me…” There was a long silence after that and Raiden began to enjoy the silence of the evening again. His mind wandered. The calls were not something he worried about much. They’d become a regular occurrence that he actually kind of welcomed. Many times the calls just so happened to wake him from a nightmare about his past. Sometimes he enjoyed hearing, at 5 o’clock in the morning, that there was someone else out there in the world who was awake and unable to sleep. There were times when the calls lasted seconds, either Raiden would hang up out of annoyance or the line would suddenly go dead. There were times when the calls lasted minutes. Sometimes Raiden questioned the other voice and sometimes he just listened to the unintelligible sounds coming from the other end and he’d find comfort in it. It was strange, really, that he found comfort in such a basic sound as someone breathing.

“Is it a man or a woman?” Courtney’s question pulled Raiden from his thoughts. He realised the sun had set past the horizon, and the few stars that could be seen through the light pollution had begun to shine.

“Excuse me?”

“The voice on the other end. Is it a man’s voice or a woman’s voice?” Courtney looked puzzled.

Raiden contemplated for a moment before sighing. “Courtney, as the person has never actually spoken on the other end, and as people in general can have a wide range of vocal abilities that can be perceived as masculine, feminine or other… it’s difficult to tell,” he tutted, uninterested.

“Haven’t you ever wondered?” She leaned forward, her voice high in pitch.

He paused. Swallowed.

“You have, haven’t you?” She relaxed back in her chair and raised her eyebrows. And he knew what the next question was going to be before it left her mouth. “So, what do you think?”

He contemplated. Why was this so important to her? Why was she so interested in this person that kept calling Raiden in the middle of the night? Why was he indulging her with an answer? “Man,” a curt response.

“Ooooh?” She giggled then, adjusting her glasses slightly as they’d slipped down her nose. “Is that based off of some sort of evidence, or…?”

“The breathing sounds deep, and what little noises I have heard have been too.”

“Sounds creepy… Is it metallic?”

“No, not a robot or AI, definitely human… At least, I think.” He’d been around humans and AI enough to know the difference between the two. But sometimes he did doubt himself. Besides, it was difficult to tell over the phone as more often than not even human voices sounded slightly robotic.

“Hmm…” Courtney breathed out. “You know, if you want, I’m sure someone here at Maverick could trace the call for you. Hell, I could probably do it right now if you asked nicely…”

“It’s fine, Courtney. It’s not a bother to me, really.”

She decided to drop it there as she’d found out all she wanted to know. This was good because it was all that Raiden could offer her right now as he didn’t know much more himself. That and he didn’t want to give the real reason as to why he hadn’t asked his ex-colleagues to trace the call. They said their farewells to each other and then Raiden turned his codec off for good, opting instead to watch the night sky in peace. That was, until the partying started in the streets below. Raiden thought that 8pm was a good time to start on his way home, dark enough to not be noticed by the public but early enough to try and get a good night’s sleep.

What he didn’t know was that last night was the best night’s sleep he’d get in a while.

When he got home at around 9pm he found himself utterly exhausted and barely able to stand. He welcomed his bed. But what’s more is he actually looked forward to the unscheduled wakeup call in the early hours of the morning. He removed the parts of his outer cyborg enhancements that he could, put on his skin (he didn’t really know why he did this, it just felt nicer to sleep in his skin, more restful) placed his phone on his bedside table and got into bed. He played a game with himself before he drifted off entirely. He guessed what time the call would come. He finally concluded it would be 4am and closed his eyes.

At 1 am his phone rang. At first he was pissed, cursing internally at the high pitched beeping that was emanating from the small object near him. Then he remembered what waited for him. He sat up, cleared his throat and answered the phone.

“Hello?” He said. He knew it was futile. There was a choked noise on the other side. Raiden smirked. “Who is this?” Again, useless. But it did award him with a breathy chuckle. Sometimes he wondered if the person on the other end was doing something sordid. He felt his cheeks warm at the thought. “Hey…” what was he trying to say? Where was that sentence going to go? He didn’t really know. All he knew was that he really wanted to have a conversation with this unknown person. “At least tell me your name?” Nothing. “Are you a man or a woman?” A chuckle. Raiden chuckled too and the breath on the other end hitched. At this, Raiden became puzzled. A pause. “A friend of mine thinks you’re a secret admirer… are you?” This time a full laugh came through the phone and Raiden couldn’t help but laugh too. “I’ll take that as a no, then.” There was a very long pause then, Raiden listened to the person on the other end false start a number of times. It was clear the person on the other end wanted to say something but either couldn’t find the words, couldn’t find the courage or wasn’t physically able to talk. “Are you ok?” He asked, genuinely worried. There was an audible swallow, a long, slow intake of breath, and, finally, a long, nearly vocalised sigh. They both stayed silent for a while longer. Raiden was about to say his goodbyes and hang up when he heard the other person try to start a sentence again. He thought to himself that he’d give the voice a few more minutes before he went back to sleep, exhaustion once again pressing on his mind.

And that’s what it took. There was 5 whole minutes of awkward noises, gasps, breaths and false starts before the voice finally whispered out an unmistakeable phrase.

“Pretty boy.”

The line went dead.


	2. Chapter 2

He stared at the blinking word. Unknown. Except now, of course, he knew. He knew that voice, that phrase. Sam. It was Sam. He was alive. He’d been calling him up for two months without saying a thing and now all he says is pretty boy. Raiden was at a loss for words, his thoughts racing a mile a minute. How? When… Why? Why the hell was he calling him up at random times in the morning to breathe down the phone at him? Raiden’s eyebrow twitched in anger. Of course Sam would do something like this to try and make some sort of big, theatrical, dramatic entrance that piece of…

“Courtney,” he switched his codec on and rang her. No answer. Of course not, it’s half 1 in the morning. There was a click.

“Raiden, what’s up?” Kevin had picked up the call. He didn’t want to know what he was doing at Maverick so late if Courtney wasn’t there, those two were practically inseparable.

“I need you to trace the last call that came through to my phone.”

“Is this something to do with that unknown caller you’ve been getti-”

“Just do it, Kevin,” he didn’t mean to be angry at the man, it wasn’t his fault an enemy of his was still alive. But it was half one in the morning and he had all of these conflicting emotions running through him and he didn’t know what his next move should be. How the hell did Sam survive? When did he come back? How did he manage to get his number? Why was he calling him up in the middle of the night? What the fuck was he going to do about all of this?

“Uh… Raiden?” Kevin started, warily, “I’ve got that number for you here… Do you want it?”

“…”

“Raiden?”

“Yes Kevin, send it through to my phone, if you can,” he sighed and rubbed his forehead in frustration. What the hell was he even going to say on the phone? His phone beeped.

“There you go, I’ve sent it through to you…” Kevin faltered and shifted. “Listen. Do you need any help with anything? You’re looking mighty agitated…” At this, Raiden relaxed slightly. Kevin was always so helpful, and usually without asking too many questions. He really shouldn’t have been so angry at him.

He cleared his throat. “Thank you, Kevin, but I’ll be fine. I need to sort this out on my own. I’ll call you back after I’ve called this number.”

“Sure thing, Raiden. Take your time.” With that the screen closed and the conversation ended.

Raiden wasn’t really sure what to do next, what to say. He picked up his phone and stared at it for a while, taking in the numbers on the screen that told him Sam’s number. Why was he feeling so… strange about this whole ordeal? All he wanted was to know where he got his number from, why he was calling him and where he was so he could kill him for good this time.

Does he really want to kill him for good? Maybe first he’d find out how he survived so he could avoid that this time. He tapped the number and pressed the call button.

The phone rang and rang and rang before it went to voicemail. He hung up and tried again. On the third ring, it connected. There was silence on the other end. “I never left you hanging for that long, I’d always picked up before the fourth ring…” There was a chuckle that Raiden now knew belonged to “…Sam.” Sam’s breath hitched and the line went dead. Raiden’s brows furrowed in frustration. He rang again, and this time it connected before the first ring had even finished. “Now that’s a little rude, don’t you think? Hanging up on the man you’ve been persistently calling for the past two months?” Raiden spat into the phone.

Sam made a noise as if he were trying to speak. He cleared his throat. Raiden waited impatiently. “Hello,” was all that passed Sam’s lips before he made a choked noise.

“That’s it?”

“…Raiden…” This time it was Raiden’s turn to chuckle into the phone.

“Yes, Sam?”

There was a nervous breath from Sam. A sigh. “I don’t really know what to say.”

“How about we start with how the hell you got my phone number?” He was really angry now. He wanted answers. He wanted to know where the hell the man had been for the past year and a half, and how the hell he’d managed to survive an apparently (not) fatal stab to the chest.

“Now’s not the time for something as trivial as that, pretty boy,” he whispered condescendingly. Raiden’s eyebrow twitched and he tutted, annoyance apparent in his voice when he spoke.

“Don’t call me that. Tell me how you survived.”

“Can we meet?” Raiden had hardly finished his sentence when Sam said this, throwing Raiden’s train of thought off balance.

“What for?” Scepticism.

“We need to talk.”

“Why would I want to talk to you?” Anger.

“Come on, now, Raiden. Can you give the man who saved your life and the lives of every American a break?”

Raiden snorted. “If I remember correctly, I was the man who saved America, not you. You were too busy being dead. Or so I thought.” Tired amusement.

“That I was. And whose fault was that, I wonder?”

“Yours.” Blunt.

“Perhaps you’re right, menino. But… I still saved your life, right?” Now this, Raiden couldn’t argue with. He had, in fact, saved Raiden’s life. Although he never understood why it had to be such a close call. Why couldn’t he have made it so the ID lock on his HF blade was removed sooner? Raiden huffed. Ever the drama queen.

“…”

“Ah, is that a yes?” Raiden could hear Sam’s smug smile through the phone. If he was with him right now he’d be punching that smug look off of his face. Even if the man did save his life, the man was still an asshole. “So…” Sam began, “can we meet?”

“…” Raiden didn’t really know how to react. “Where?” Well that was a start.

Sam hummed in thought. “How close are you to Denver, Colorado?”

“I’m not going to the old World Marshal headquarters, if that’s what you’re thinking of,” Raiden replied coolly.

“Not quite,” was the only response he got. He waited. Sam didn’t continue.

“Well?” He urged.

“There’s a hotel near there, the Gideon Hotel, do you know it?”

“Vaguely, I’m sure I can make it there within an hour. Then you’ll answer all of my questions, right?” Why the hell was Raiden agreeing to this? It could be a trap.

“Anything you want to know,” he near whispered. Odd.

“How can I trust you?”

Sam chuckled. “I suppose you can’t. Would you trust me if I gave you my word?”

“No chance,” Raiden snickered. “3 am outside of the Gideon Hotel. If you try anything funny, don’t think for a second that I will hesitate to kill you again.”

“Because you did such a good job of it last time,” he could hear the man stroke his chin on the other end. God damn it Sam pissed the shit out of him.

Click.

It was nearly 2 am now, and most of the rest of the city was asleep, so Raiden knew that meeting the other man in such a public place shouldn’t be too much of a problem. He could get everything over and done with quickly enough to be back in bed by 5. Although, he really did want to know the answers to all of his questions. Make it half 5 then.

He got out of bed and walked over to pick up the outer parts of his cyborg body. If only it didn’t take so damn long to take off his skin and put on his armour… It was twenty past 2 by the time he made his way out of his apartment, sword strapped firmly to his back, just in case. He wanted to trust the man, especially after everything that had happened after… after he’d killed him, but how can you trust someone after they did something so undeniably evil to both you and America? It’s not easy. Raiden hopped into his car and began his journey.


	3. Chapter 3

At 5 minutes to 3 he pulled up in the street outside of the Gideon Hotel. When he got out he looked over to see the old World Marshal headquarters. Some of it was still being renovated and he could see the scaffolding keeping parts of it together. Oops. Actually, it was strange to see it still standing there, particularly after everything that had happened in there. He would’ve thought that the public would want it gone, but perhaps that would have been too expensive. He didn’t want to think of that, now. He didn’t want to think about what happened to him just outside of the front doors of the building. He didn’t want to think about who he’d become after that.

He turned and instead looked at the other side of the street. Large brown buildings, nothing particularly interesting. Except… except there was a bike outside one of the buildings. A familiar bike. It was black with a small part of it painted blue and covered in blue swirls. Raiden went up to the bike, he felt drawn in to it. He wasn’t sure but it looked like… he looked at the ground. New paving. Yes, it was placed exactly where he had stolen it from a year and a half ago. At least they’d paved over his carving in the ground. He’d left his number there for the owner of the bike to find.

Wait.

“Ah, you like my bike, yes?” Sam’s voice made the blonde jump, he turned clumsily, unsheathing his sword in the process. Sam tutted. “You’ve lost your touch.” He smiled and rubbed his chin in the way that only Sam does. Cocky son of a bitch.

“So that was how you got my number,” Raiden didn’t respond to the insult that was thrown his way.

Sam raised his hands as if he’d been caught red handed. “Ah, you got me. It’s nice to know that you’re putting that big cybernetically enhanced brain of yours to good use,” he mocked. Raiden’s stance didn’t waver one bit, but his eyes narrowed and his grip on his sword tightened. “You can put that away, you know. As I’ve only come here to talk, I haven’t actually brought my weapon with me. Besides, nothing has been the same since I gave up my Marusama.” He tilted his head and lowered his hands, smiling. “I want that back at some point, by the way.”

Raiden warily sheathed his sword but his stance remained and he was on high alert. He glared at the man. God, he looked almost exactly the same. Except his right arm was no longer covered in the red markings of the Desperado symbol and there was something else new about him. In an unsmooth circle around his heart and jaggedly travelling down to his navel was a plate of metal that was silver in colour.

“Do you like it?” Sam questioned, walking towards Raiden slowly. Raiden’s hands twitched, ready to reach for his blade at any given moment. “You should. You gave it to me.” Sam’s right index finger travelled languidly down the metal plate, the two metals making an interesting noise. He sauntered cockily toward Raiden who took a small step backwards. “You need not fear me, menino. I am here to talk, not to fight. Like I said,” he flourished, showing his lack of weapon in the showiest way possible, bending over and opening out his arms, “I am completely unarmed.”

“Then talk,” was the short reply that came from Raiden, who was still in defence mode. His shoulders dropped slightly.

Sam exhaled and shook his head. “So bossy,” he looked at Raiden through his eyelashes, “I like that,” he simpered. Raiden’s mouth twitched, nearly snarling. “Okay. Where do you want me to start?”

At this, Raiden relaxed slightly, but his mind was still focused on the thought of defending himself if the need came. “Let’s start with how the hell you survived my stabbing you through the chest, shall we?”

Sam shifted his weight and crossed his arms, putting a finger up to his chin in thought, he popped his hip and looked to the sky. “Hmm… where to begin with that one.” But Raiden wasn’t buying his pretend thoughtful bullshit. Sam continued. “Well, how about we start with Armstrong.” Raiden recoiled slightly at the name. “Ahh, the name still evokes such a response in you, huh, menino louro? Yes, well, when he cut my arm off,” Sam stretched out his right arm and looked at it quizzically, “he got World Marshal to replace it with this one. A better one.” He clenched his fist and a sad expression flickered on his face before his cocky smirk came back. “He also started me on a nanomachine treatment, I think he was planning on turning me into something the likes of Mistral or Monsoon…” his eyes looked away and his arm dropped limp beside him. Raiden knew he wasn’t pretending anymore. He relaxed a little more. “But, of course, you killed me before that,” he continued, looking out the corner of his eye at Raiden. He chortled despondently. “In a way you actually helped him…” he lilted. Raiden looked on, unamused. “Anyway… The nanomachines did a good job of keeping me barely alive after you nearly cut me in two. You nicked my heart, though, which, I guess, is why that had to be removed and replaced with this,” he tapped the plate “mechanical one.” He placed his hands on his hips. “It’s ever such a strange feeling, being brought back from the brink of death. Not knowing where you are, bright lights and unfamiliar voices all around you. But I’m sure you know all about that, don’t you?” He smiled.

“Who brought you back?” Raiden wasn’t wary or angry anymore. Curiosity was the only feeling he had. That and a sense of empathy. But that didn’t mean he was going to deal with any of Sam’s cocky bullshit.

“Now that I don’t have an answer for.”

“Huh?”

“I have no idea, Raiden. When I came to, properly came to, I was back in my apartment in Brazil. You can imagine my confusion. It was as if it had all been some sort of terrible dream. Then I became aware of that strange, almost burning, feeling of metal on skin and knew that it hadn’t just been a nightmare. It was strange, to say the least.” Sam moved to sit on the edge of the pavement in front of his bike.

“Where have you been for the past year?” Raiden still hadn’t moved an inch.

Sam smiled out to the other side of the road. “Well, when I woke up in Brazil, it was 3 months after the Badlands incident. After that, I became detached from the world, got into a lot of unnecessary fights, tried to track down the people who had revived me. It was pointless,” Sam turned his head to look at Raiden “of course”. His head dropped, he turned away, “I lost my way… again,” he whispered. Raiden knew better than to question that any further. “Then four months ago I got the brilliant idea to come back to Colorado and see what had become of World Marshal. I’m glad the bastards are gone,” he clenched his fists and jaw and eyed the building towering across the street. “Anyway, when I got here what should I see but my bike gone and a mysterious message etched into the pavement with a phone number underneath it.” He leant against the bike in question, lifting his hand up to pat it in an almost loving way. “And then I remembered. You rode that bike out to the Badlands. I came to the conclusion that it was you who left the note. I made a record of the number but didn’t do anything with it right away. I didn’t know what to say to you, so calling you would have been useless.” Sam winked at Raiden who had slowly been making his way over to where the other man was sitting. He stopped and stood when Sam looked at him, arms crossed and a slight look of irritation on his face because of the wink. 

“The next morning, I woke up, and the note, along with the number, was gone. I thought it strange that it could exist there for a little under a year and not get touched but then, as soon as I’d read it, it was covered up.” Sam shrugged. “But the world works that way sometimes, I guess.” He looked up at the sky thoughtfully. Raiden shifted uncomfortably. “I thought about calling you for so long, but what was I going to say? I’d get as far as bringing the number up on my phone and then I’d stop. Then, one night two months ago, I pressed call.”

Raiden remembered the first call well. It was a Thursday night around two months ago and it was 3am. It only lasted a few seconds. All that he’d heard on the other end was a choked noise and then the clicking of someone hanging up. “I remember. I thought someone had just called a wrong number.”

“And then I didn’t call again for another week,” Sam exclaimed.

“Even then I still thought it was a wrong number.”

“Yes. That phone call didn’t last very long either, did it?” It lasted about 2 minutes if Raiden remembered correctly. “You were very grumpy.” Sam tilted his head slightly to look at Raiden.

“It was 4am on a Friday morning and I’d been asleep for 40 minutes, of course I was grumpy.” Raiden cracked a playful smile and was pleased to see that Sam did too.

But it was fleeting. The smile dropped and Sam turned to look away at the sky again. Raiden looked on, concerned, he found himself shifting closer to the larger man. If he didn’t know any better, he’d think that he could see tears in Sam’s eyes. But… he couldn’t. Could he? 

“I hated them, Raiden.”

“Hm?”

“World Marshal. I came here to defeat them, to defeat Armstrong. But I failed.” He looked at the ground and wrapped his right arm around his left shoulder. “Esses bastardos…” he spat, scrunching his nose, “I came here to stop them, to stop the Desperados.” He grit his teeth, his eyes shining with tears and anger. Raiden could feel drops of rain on the back of his neck, but he ignored them. “But they defeated me. I had to join them to survive. And I hated myself. I still hate myself. I started to wonder if I’d gone insane.” A tear fell. Raiden was at a loss for words, a strange feeling in his throat that he thought a cyborg wouldn’t have been capable of. “When we fought at the Badlands, I was grateful to be fighting someone who would be a worthy opponent, but I was questioning why I was doing it. I had no idea why I was holding my blade that day…” He unfurled, placing his balled hands on the ground. He still looked down. “As you know, I’d already recorded that message on wolfy. I’d lost my way working with the Desperados. But then this bratty, blond, stupid, little boy came along speaking about using his sword to protect the weak and I remembered who I was.” Raiden huffed in dejected amusement, his brow furrowing again. Sam tilted his head, his gaze unmoved. “I tried my best to make it look like I was still on Armstrong’s side to remove any suspicions he might’ve had. And…” he smiled, “… I wanted to die.” Raiden’s eyes widened at the confession. “And if there was any way I was gonna go, it was gonna be at the hands of a worthy opponent.”

“Sam…” He’d been there. He knew exactly what he was talking about. About how easy it is to lose your way, your path in life, your meaning… and your humanity. About how sometimes the only option you have is to join the people who you are fighting against. He clenched his fists. He was so busy trying to stop this from happening to people that he didn’t see that the man he killed was suffering from it too. “I’m sorry.” The rain was coming down faster now.

“It’s not your fault, menino bonito.” The rain falling on his face and the tears from his eyes were now undistinguishable from one another. He huffed. “The world works that way sometimes, I guess,” he couldn’t finish the sentence before a sob broke out and he turned his face away, hiding it in his left hand in embarrassment. It was a mildly terrifying experience for Raiden, seeing someone he thought was so together, so cocky and sure of himself completely come apart like that. He hated what he’d done to the man in the Badlands. But this wasn’t about him, this was about the sobbing mess of a man in front of him. With nothing else to do, Raiden moved closer to him, squatted next to him and placed a comforting hand on his right shoulder. Sam tensed at first but then moved his left hand to cover Raiden’s. In that moment, he let it all go. Raiden let him.

There they sat in the pouring rain, understanding each other completely. After a few minutes, Sam’s sobs slowed. But still they sat, and Raiden would sit with him until he didn’t need him anymore. Raiden wasn’t always great at comforting others but right now him just being there was exactly what Sam needed. Eventually Sam moved and stretched out, removing his hand from Raiden’s. He looked up to the hotel across the street, his gaze avoiding the World Marshal building near it. Slowly his gaze moved, eyes connecting with Raiden’s. Sam smiled, Raiden returned it sympathetically.

“You!” With the both of them so preoccupied with their thoughts, neither of them had realised the cyborg presence around them. There were 12 of them slowly advancing, their swords out, ready to attack. They were clearly after Raiden.

“Shit.”

“Trouble, menino bonito?”

Raiden got up, unsheathed his sword and got into a defensive stance so quickly that Sam didn’t realise he’d even moved his hand off of his shoulder. “Nothing I can’t handle,” he looked down to smile at the man but noticed that all he could see was the back of him. “Hmm?” He followed the man’s body to find him draped over his bike, grasping at something hidden behind it. Seconds later Sam too was in a defensive position, his sword drawn. “So… you’re not unarmed, then.”

“This is not the time for that conversation, Raiden.” The cyborgs had formed a circle around them, surrounding them. Sam and Raiden looked at each other and nodded, soon they were back to back and moving in a tight circle, scoping out their enemies. 12 cyborgs. Raiden could take them down by himself, but it was always nice to fight alongside someone. It had been a while since he had.

They moved in sync, the two of them stepping forward at the same time and cutting down the cyborgs opposite them. The remaining 10 broke their formation and attacked. Sam cut down 2 more easily, but one grabbed him from behind, another advancing in front. Without anything needing to be said Raiden was there, Sam bent forward, Raiden rolled over the top of the cyborg holding him and swiftly cut down the one that was advancing. Simultaneously Sam maneuvered so that the cyborg that held him was now on the floor in front of him. Raiden’s foot came down with his sword, going straight through his skull. Sam was fascinated. He absentmindedly stabbed a cyborg advancing behind him as he watched Raiden move as if this whole thing were just some sort of intricate dance. 5 left. They were circling them again, trying to get them to let their guard down somewhere. But they were too good, too quick, Sam and Raiden were immediately back to back again, with no chance of there being an opening for the cyborgs to get the upper hand. Slowly the cyborg circle was closing in, getting smaller, and surrounding them tighter.

“Squat. Flat back,” was all Raiden said and Sam obeyed. He got up on Sam’s back, placed his sword in his foot and spun, cutting down 3 of the remaining 5 cyborgs in a few swift rotations. The other 2 managed to back out of the way before the move started. When Raiden was collecting himself and getting back on two feet again, he was vulnerable, and the 2 cyborgs left took this as their opportunity to strike. One tried to attack Sam but he was quick to spin and stab backwards into the cyborg. The other grabbed Raiden and knocked the sword out of his hand. “You’ll have to do better than that,” he growled.

Sam watched as Raiden flipped so that he was on top of the cyborg, his legs wrapped around his neck. He flipped further until his hands touched the ground, letting go of the cyborg and sending him flying across the street. Sam then took this opportunity to charge at the cyborg, stabbing him through the chest.

“You won’t get away with this… Sam,” the cyborg gasped. Shocked at his words, Sam cut upward, swiftly ending his life. He stood for a moment, trying to come to terms with the fact that they were attacked because of him. In the distance, Raiden collected himself, picked up his sword and watched on. And just like that, it was over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mer Cursmus have some teary cyborgs and a bloody battle.


	4. Chapter 4

After a few moments of rearranging his racing thoughts, Sam returned.

“Nothing like a good old fight to get some stress out of your system, huh, menino bonito?” He swiftly whipped his sword to get the blood and electrolyte substance off of it before he picked up the sheath from behind the bike and sheathed the blade. “Aren’t you glad I brought my sword now?”

Raiden sheathed his sword. “You said you were unarmed,” he mock snarled.

“I thought you would attack me,” Sam raised his hands in a shrug, “any man would want to protect himself if he was being attacked by the infamous Raiden.” He joked, making Raiden crack a genuine smile. He looked at the expression with fondness and found himself feeling more relaxed than he had in years.

“Thank you, Sam… for your help.” It was sincere. Sam looked slightly shocked at the thanks. It was as if in these last few minutes, some of Raiden’s walls had come down. He felt… honoured.

“No sweat, Raiden” he tried to brush it off in his cocky way, but he knew that they’d become closer through the fighting and the conversation. He could feel it. 

And Raiden could too. It was nice for him, to be able to find a friend that he could confide in fully. He hadn’t really had one since… Raiden looked away, lost in his thoughts, his brow furrowed. He was broken out of his memories when he felt Sam’s fingers in between his brows. “You know, pretty boy, you’ll get wrinkles if you keep frowning like that.” This made Raiden laugh. A full blown hearty full bellied laugh. Again, something that he hadn’t done in quite a while. The laughter spread, Sam now chuckling along with Raiden. And they both just stood there for a while, in the middle of the street, laughing with one another as the rain let up.

The sound of high pitched sirens broke them from their laughter. Sam, a panicked expression on his face, looked around to try and discern where the sound was coming from. “They’re going to surround the area,” Raiden growled, making Sam’s hand twitch and reach for his blade. “No, I don’t want to see any more deaths today. Where are you living right now?” His speech was fast, his eyes darting, time was not on their side. He moved quickly to the driver’s side of his car.

“I’ve got a room in the hotel.”

“Not good enough. They’re gonna scan the area for cyborg life signs, and that’s gonna make you their number one suspect,” he opened the door of the car and slid in. “Get in,” he ordered.

Sam didn’t have to ask twice. He ran to the other side and got in the car. “Aren’t they going to suspect someone driving out of the area?” He was right. A sleek black car being driven by two cyborgs wasn’t exactly the least suspicious thing.

“We’ll just have to hope that they’re not that clever,” was Raiden’s only reply. He started the car, and they pulled away slowly. Raiden’s visor came down and Sam knew he was scanning the surrounding area for a way out. His motions were so fluid and quick it wasn’t long before he’d managed to calculate a route and enlarge it onto a screen in front of them. Raiden flipped the visor back up again and began to follow the red dotted line on the blue map. His timings were perfect, every turn he took was either just after a car moved out of the way, or just before one came into their line of sight. It was so calculated, so clean that Sam could hardly believe it. His driving was slow, so as to not seem suspicious, as if they weren’t running from the scene. They drove in tense silence, Raiden’s eyes flickering everywhere as if he were making decisions and calculating what to do next every second. He took side roads and alleyways, stopping every now and then to let a police car go speeding past them before pulling out and going in another direction.

Soon enough the red dotted line disappeared on the map and, with a flick of his wrist, Raiden closed it. He relaxed his hands on the steering wheel and leant back into his seat, letting go of the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Sam also relaxed, looking over to Raiden for a second to just watch his jaw unclench. His eyes returned to the road before he spoke. “That was a close call.” Raiden hummed in agreement. “You’ve got some skills, blondie.”

At this Raiden smirked. “It’s amazing what you can do when you’re cybernetically enhanced to the extent that I am,” his eyes flicked over to Sam. 

“You have to take some credit for it, pretty boy,” Sam turned to give him a cheeky grin.

“Don’t call me that,” was Raiden’s slightly snarky remark, his mouth twitching in amusement. Sam’s eyes and mouth softened into a smile and he turned to look out of his window at the passing city. “And don’t think for a second I don’t know you’re calling me that in Portugese, too.” Sam chuckled and Raiden couldn’t help but breathe out a laugh.

The rest of the ride was quiet, the only conversation passing between them was about the city and buildings, idle chit chat.

It was nearly 5 am when Raiden slowed to a stop and Sam watched as he elegantly got out of the car. He turned to look back in at Sam. “Are you getting out or would you rather stay in the car all night?” Raiden took a moment to enjoy the look of amused confusion on Sam’s face before he turned to walk away. Sam got out of the car and started following Raiden.

“And where are we, exactly?”

“My place,” Raiden said as he opened the door to the apartment complex. They walked to the elevator and stood waiting for it in silence. Raiden began to feel a little uncomfortable. He didn’t really know why. Maybe it was because he was actually letting someone come into his place, something that he hadn’t done in a long time. He’d certainly not done it since moving to Colorado, and he’d been here for a good while now. The elevator dinged, the doors opened and they got in. Raiden pressed the number 4.

Sam whistled. “This is one fancy place you’ve got here pretty b-” Raiden glared at him, “-Raiden.” Sam leaned against the side of the elevator, taking in the polished view of it.

“Thanks,” was all he could say in response. The elevator ride was short but silent. Raiden felt awkward, Sam felt relaxed and in awe. The elevator reached floor 4 with a ding and Sam looked out into the hallway with wide eyes. There were four doors in the vast hallway, two on each side, each a good distance from the other. At the other end of the hallway was a wall length mirror in which he could see both himself and Raiden. There were many potted plants and ornate decorations in black and gold. The wallpaper was timid but beautiful none the less, swirls of black and gold on a subdued cream background. Even the lights weren’t just lights, two large chandeliers lit their way.

“Are you coming or are you just going to gawk at the décor all night?” Sam hadn’t even realised that Raiden was no longer at his side but on the other side of the hallway, key in hand, door open. Sam caught up. On his right he passed 401, and on his left he passed 403 and 404, which meant... 

Sam stopped at the harsh contrast of Raiden’s apartment. He looked in to see an open plan living room and kitchen. It was practically bare. Everything was monochromatic and there were no ornate decorations anywhere in sight. There wasn’t one thing in the large room that wasn’t completely necessary. Raiden made his way into the kitchen but turned in confusion when Sam wouldn’t even step through the door. “Are you ok?” He asked, eyebrows lowering in concern. Raiden was even more nervous now. He was never one for letting anyone in to his personal spaces, it never ended very well. He placed his sword on a kitchen surface and began walking towards Sam. “Sam?”

Sam blinked. “I’m fine, Raiden. Sorry, I was just… admiring the view.” Across the other side of the room was a huge, nearly wall length window that looked out onto the city lights below and the near purple glow that came with the twilight. He moved toward it, thanking it for giving him an excuse for his pause.

“Oh,” was all that Raiden said, relaxing his shoulders. “Look,” he started, rubbing his eyes. Sam turned. “I don’t know about you but I’m tired. We can carry on our conversation tomorrow after we’ve both had some rest?” The infliction at the end of the sentence may have made it a question, but Sam knew it was more of a suggestion than anything. Raiden did look quite tired. And now that Sam came to think about it, he was too. “I’m afraid the only place I have for you to rest is the sofa. I’ve got some blankets if you’ll need them… but I don’t have any clothes that’ll fit you so you’re gonna have to sleep in your cyber suit,” Raiden leant against the work surface in the kitchen.

Sam huffed and crossed his arms. “Wow, Raiden. You have got to be the worst host I have ever known,” he said mockingly.

Raiden grinned, “You can always sleep in the car,” he said gruffly, eyes shining mischievously.

“Now that’s just cold,” Sam pouted. Raiden hummed out a laugh, his face softening. He left the room then, and Sam tried to sneak a peek into Raiden’s bedroom to see if it was as sparse as this room, but Raiden kept the door as closed as was possible. Moments later he returned with a couple of blankets and a pillow and placed them onto the black leather sofa.

“You’ll probably want to put something over the leather,” he said, straightening up to look at Sam who had suddenly gotten quite close. Raiden took a step back from both him and the sofa out of instinct. Sam eyed the pile of blankets intently before moving to pick one up. “The bathroom is that door there," Raiden gestured to the door near the kitchen, "and if you need a glass of water in the night the glasses are in the top left cupboard. Don’t worry about being woken up by me needing the bathroom, I have an en suite, and besides, I don’t use it often” he relayed monotonously. Sam was only half paying attention, busying himself setting up the sofa for the night. “And Sam…” Raiden began. Sam turned his head to look at the man behind him. Raiden looked down at something that he had in his hands and Sam’s eyes followed. Sam dropped the blanket in his hands. There, lying comfortably in Raiden’s grip, was his Murasama blade in its sheath, as good as it ever was. “Here…” Sam’s eyes widened in shock and Raiden shifted uncomfortably, a raw feeling in his throat.

“I can’t believe you actually kept it, sheath and all,” Sam said, still staring at the object with admiration.

Raiden’s grip twitched around the sheath, “After it helped me beat Armstrong, I didn’t want to just throw it away… but I didn’t want to use it either… out of respect,” Raiden nearly whispered. His head was low, but his eyes were looking up at Sam who hadn’t yet taken his eyes off of the sword.

Sam turned slowly and carefully reached for it, his fingers brushing ever so lightly over Raiden’s palms as he gently picked up his prized possession. He partially unsheathed it, and Raiden saw his face light up with childish wonderment as his eyes scanned over it. Raiden smiled as Sam’s eyes danced over his blade. “You killed Armstrong with this?” He breathed.

Raiden cocked his head to the side. “Yes.”

“So what you’re saying here is I actually did save America,” Sam said cockily. Raiden snorted and looked at Sam’s arrogant grin. His upper lip twitched and he walked off to his bedroom door. But before he could open it, “Raiden,” Sam spoke. He turned, crossing his arms in mock annoyance at being stopped. “Thank you,” Sam said sincerely. Raiden was taken aback slightly by the man’s seriousness and he swallowed.

After a moment of hesitation he flicked his hand nonchalantly and turned to open his bedroom to go inside. With a slight creak and a click of the door, he was on the other side, back pressed against the door, eyes staring at his hands which were still tingling from Sam’s light touch. He furrowed his brow and clenched his fists.

This wasn’t good.

He sighed, took off the outer parts of his armour and got into bed, opting not to get into his skin because he hated other people seeing him in it. He closed his eyes and hoped that he’d get at least a few hours of decent sleep.

He didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tingles ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of blood and gore and just generally upsetting stuff in this one. Also Raiden has a bit of a panic attack. It's not too bad but if you're not great with that stuff, then please take caution when reading this chapter.

Nightmares plagued Raiden heavily that night, particularly ones set in the Badlands, a place he’d never had nightmares about before. Sometimes he dreamt of being a child again, killing for food and pleasure. Sometimes he dreamt about losing himself and letting Jack loose in Colorado. Sometimes he even dreamt about killing the ones he loved most, those were the worst nightmares.

But this one… this one was new. He was at the Badlands, but the sky was blood red and the air was thicker than he remembered it actually being. Everything was heavy, the air, his lungs, his limbs. Beneath him, on the dusty floor, lay Sam’s mangled corpse, covered in blood. He was twisted, contorted into an uncomfortable tangle of limbs and sinew. But the corpse was moving, speaking, breathing. The movement of his chest was ragged and unnatural, as if he were being forced to breathe.

Sam rose, legs distorted and out of shape. There was blood spitting from his mouth as he spoke.

“Why, Raiden?”

Raiden looked at his hands, covered in more blood than his sword was. He felt… strange. Something sparked within him at the sight of the blood on his blade – something akin to intrigue, to pleasure. His gaze returned to the shape in front of him.

“I came here” Sam wheezed “to stop them.” He fell and grabbed onto Raiden’s shoulders, his weight fully on the cyborg, dragging him downwards.

Raiden quickly lost his footing and felt himself stumble backwards. He fell flat on his back, dropping his sword with an impossibly loud clang. His head whipped and hit the floor. He stared at the dissolving sky, the reds and oranges swirling together and creating a confusing array of shapes above him. There was a blackness coming, creeping in and surrounding the edges of his vision. His breath quickened, a lump in his throat quickly forming.

“I came here to defeat them,” the distorted voice grumbled.

Raiden couldn’t see anything as he’d screwed his eyes shut to try and fore himself awake. It didn’t work. When he opened his eyes he saw Sam’s dead face staring at him, red and angry. There was blood dripping from his eyes and nose and Raiden could hear the loud splashing as it landed on him. He could feel the force of Sam’s weight pressing him into the floor.

He needed to wake up. He had to wake up.

“I wanted to die, Raiden,” he gurgled. “I want to die.”

Raiden scrambled for purchase, feeling the land beneath him melt almost completely, the sand turning to air beneath his fingers. He squeezed his eyes shut again and when he opened them the face was gone. Only the blood red sky remained, darker now, blacker, and almost completely void.

“You kill for pleasure, Jack. You enjoy it,” Sam’s voice whispered in his ear. He turned to where the sound was coming from but there was nothing there. He floated on nothingness but still felt a pressure on him that made him uncomfortable and breathless.

“No,” a weak objection. He couldn’t breathe.

“Admit it to yourself, Jack. You love the feeling of taking a life. You love the feeling of becoming the Ripper…”

“NO!” Louder this time. Once more he screwed his eyes shut and when he opened them he saw a familiar scene play out in front of him, as if he were watching through a camera from across the road. He tried to move, tried to stop it from happening but he couldn’t even feel his legs. All he could do was watch on in shock.

“Playtime’s over,” exclaimed the Raiden he was watching as he plunged his sword deep into Sam. Raiden tried to shout but his mouth felt stapled shut.

He watched in horror as Sam reached out for the other Raiden. This time, instead of falling to the ground, Sam turned to look at Raiden, his eyes piercing him. Sam grabbed the sword with one hand and the other Raiden’s hand in his other.

“I didn’t deserve to die, did I, Raiden?” He smirked as he spoke, blood pouring from his mouth. “You kill because you enjoy it.” At this, the Raiden he was watching turned to him. There was a devilish grin on his face, and his eye glowed red. Seeing himself like that was so frightening and thrilling.

He had to wake up.

“The power you feel,” they both spoke in unison, staring at him intently now, “the smell of blood and electolyte in the air.”

Sam pulled the sword further into him, still smiling. “I didn’t deserve to die, did I, Raiden?” Sam repeated, pulling the sword out half way before stabbing it back in again. The noise it made was vulgar, a gushing squelch.

“But you killed me because you liked it.” With this, Sam pulled the sword out the whole way, his face going pale and emotionless as his limp body fell to the floor, splashing in a pool of his own blood. His body was mangled much the same way as it was at the beginning of the nightmare.

Raiden wanted to run over, wanted to save him. But all he could do was watch as the other him laughed maniacally, running his fingers up and down the blood stained blade in his hands. He brought the blood soaked digits to his lip, his tongue flicking out to taste the red, his eyes fixing with Raiden’s throughout, never faltering.

The other Raiden moved closer, slowly, with a predatory gaze and animalistic smile. “Some people kill to survive. Some people kill for justice. Some people kill in self-defence,” he was much closer now, almost impossibly close. His eye glowed bright red and the blood splattered on his face was so dark in comparison to his bright white skin.

Suddenly, Raiden felt a sharp pain in his abdomen. His scream was caught in his throat and his eyes tightened in agony. When he looked down, his sword was deeply embedded in him, in exactly the same place as it was back in Colorado. He gasped at the sight. He returned his gaze to the face of the man in front of him, distorted now, under all of that blood.

“Admit it, Jack. You love the feeling of killing,” whispered the other him. He felt a jolt of pleasure run through him and he tried his hardest to deny it.

“I kill for justice,” Raiden protested weakly.

The other him chuckled, “you’re lying to yourself.” He pushed the sword in deeper and Raiden felt another stab of pain, quickly followed by desire flowing through him. He shook under the force of it all; all of those conflicting emotions welling up inside of him, sharper now in the fake reality of his dream.

“You love to kill. You love to feel pain. Both yours and others.” The voice had changed and when Raiden looked up, Sam was staring back at him, bloody and bruised, trademark cocky smile replaced with a fierce grimace. “That’s why you killed me.”

“No.”

“I didn’t deserve to die, did I, Raiden?” His voice was so loud, it echoed in Raiden’s head, rattling inside his skull. He screwed his eyes as tight as possible.

“NO!” He screamed and sat bolt upright, the feeling of the soft bed beneath him making him realise he was now awake. He stared blankly at the door across the room. Briefly, he looked at the clock on his bedside table and realised it was just past 7am.

He was shaking, and confused as to why his bed felt differently to how it normally did. He cautiously looked down at his trembling hands, his cyborg body looking dull in the morning light. He sighed, some of the tension flowing from his body. He ran his hand through his hair and swallowed thickly. It had been so long since he’d slept in his cyborg body, he’d forgotten what it felt like.

He took a moment to collect himself, his throat burning and eyes stinging. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath in through his nose, held it for a few beats and then slowly released it through his mouth. He continued this for a few minutes, a bit more of the tension ebbing away each time. He’d done this enough times now, woken up from enough nightmares, to know what to do. Deep breath in, slow breath out.

When he finally felt calm enough a few minutes later, he opened his eyes and looked around his room, confirming to himself that he was awake. He took in the look of his door; the white paint covering the walls; the sun coming in through the slight slit in the curtain; the red numbers of the alarm clock. He also listened to everything that he could hear - the birds outside of his window, the rustling of his sheets when he moved, his rhythmic breathing, and the high pitched beeping coming from his bedside table.

He turned and looked at his phone, he knew what this was going to be. On it was a message from Courtney that simply read “Hey, Raiden. Just checking up on you because your heart rate spiked. Nightmares?”

To which he promptly sent the reply “Nightmares” and put the phone back down. At least she didn’t ask about the phone calls last night. Either Kevin hadn’t told her, or she was keeping quiet about it… either way, Raiden thanked God he didn’t have to deal with that right now. Although he would have to give Kevin that call he’d promised.

He took another deep breath, released a sigh and stretched out. He turned in the bed and placed his feet on the ground, really taking in how different it felt through his uncovered, skinless body, how much duller the carpet felt beneath the metal heels and sharp toes.

He stood slowly, still a little shaky, and carefully stretched again. He walked over to his wardrobe, taking note of how the knob felt in his unskinned hand. Opening the door, he looked at his collection of suits, disguises and costumes. His eyebrow twitched in frustration. He didn’t want to have to wear something like that this early in the morning, especially when he didn’t have anything planned for the day… But he also didn’t want to wear his comfy clothes when he wasn’t wearing his skin, either. It just didn’t seem right to do that, like those clothes were only meant for when he was lounging around in his skin, like wearing them on his cyborg body would taint them. But, then, he also couldn’t put his skin on because Sam was here.

An annoyed grumble rose in his chest. He had it in mind to do it anyway, throw on his skin and to hell with what Sam thought.

But he couldn’t.

He hated anyone seeing him in his skin. He could always feel people’s judgemental eyes on him, emanating disgust at his obviously synthetic flesh. But he didn’t want to put his outer armour on, either. It took way too long and there was no point when he wasn’t planning on doing any fighting any time soon. He tutted, still staring blankly into the wardrobe. But then he also felt like he couldn’t go out in just his… body. He felt naked. Wrong. Like he would be baring all, more than he would be if he were to put on his skin and walk into the lounge butt naked.

He groaned and walked over to his chest of drawers. The contents were not particularly exciting. Finally, after a few minutes of staring vacantly at his minimal selection of clothes, he threw on a plain white vest shirt, a grey pair of boxers (because even though there was nothing to hide, it felt a lot more normal), and some baggy blue jogging bottoms.

He made his way to the door and… faltered, his hand frozen on the handle.

What if Sam was still asleep? He was still mostly human so surely that meant he actually required more than 2 hours of sleep. It had been so long since Raiden really needed anything more than the 2 to 4 hours he got every now and then, he’d forgotten that most humans require an average of 8 hours of sleep every night. He was debating getting back into bed and staring at the ceiling for a few hours when there was a knock at the door, forcing him out of his thoughts.

He jolted slightly. “Uh… yes?”

“Ah, you _are_ awake. Thank god, I was getting bored out here on my own,” Sam laughed. There was a pause. “Can I come in?”

Raiden gripped the handle tighter, nearly bending the metal. “I’d rather you didn’t.” Because it never ended well.

There was no reply from Sam, but Raiden did hear him move away from the door. He took that as his opportunity to step out into the living area, keeping his door as closed as possible as he left his bedroom. Sam was way too busy occupying himself with reaching for a glass to notice, anyway.

And, oh.

Raiden looked at the man standing in his kitchen area. His personal space. When was the last time this happened? It had been so long since he invited anyone anywhere near his home. In fact, thinking about it, the last time he ever shared his personal space with anyone was with Rose nearly 4 years ago. A past life now long forgotten.

But now, there Sam stood in Raiden’s kitchen, hair down, wearing nothing but the leggings he wears under his armour. His hair flowed gracefully over his shoulders, framing the large muscles of his neck.

Raiden quietly admired Sam’s back. It was genuinely impressive just how much muscle the man had on him. No wonder Raiden had struggled when fighting him. A strange feeling overcame him.

He took in the way the shapes and shadows moved when he bent down ever so slightly over the sink to fill the glass. He could see how the muscles moved under his skin, how the light sheen of sweat glimmered and added more to the shapes moving on his body. Every shape had its own flow, its own feeling of life, of humanity.

Except the large, jagged metal piece that rested on the left side of his back, a grotesque and painful reminder of Raiden’s eagerness to kill. He clenched his fists, trying not to let the nightmare from that night get to him. Deep breath in, slow breath out. Raiden inspected the plate closer and saw that it was a number of metal plates overlapping, so as to keep as much movement in the chest as possible. He also saw that surrounding the metal plate was a large, unsightly scar, as if it had recently been seared into the flesh.

Raiden’s eyes wandered, slowly, over to the junction of Sam’s right arm and shoulder and saw no such scarring around that area. Weird. Actually, there was hardly any seam at all, as if the metal of the arm and shoulder were completely natural. When Sam turned, Raiden saw that the same could be said for his front. The skin surrounding the part of the metal pectoral looked practically untouched by scarring, but the skin around the metal plates were angry and red, as if it had only recently been burned. It looked particularly painful when he moved, like every small movement was pinching and stretching the skin there.

“Bit of a botched job, huh?” Sam grinned, toothy and cocky.

God that irked Raiden to no end. His eyes flicked to the plates and then back to Sam’s. “Looks like it’s melted into your skin.”

“Felt like that, too, when I finally woke up,” he shrugged, “stung like a bitch.” He took a sip from his glass, and leant back against the work surface, his right arm propping him up. “Still not sure where it came from, to be honest with you.”

“Any thoughts?” Raiden moved to sit on the sofa, where the blankets he’d given Sam were piled neatly on one side. He didn’t look at the way the shadows danced on Sam’s body as he shifted to follow Raiden with his gaze.

“I’d originally thought it was World Marshal again. Armstrong or someone, y’know?” Raiden nodded, intrigued, his eyes trained on Sam’s face. “But I knew it couldn’t be when I heard they’d mostly disbanded. Well done on that one, by the way.” Sam finished his water, throwing it back like it was a shot of liquor, and placed the glass in the sink. “Then I thought that maybe it was Maverick,” he said, wiping at his mouth as he moved toward the sofa, “but they wouldn’t want to revive an enemy now would they?” He sighed out a laugh as he unceremoniously plopped himself beside Raiden, his arms flung over the back of the sofa, his face forward, staring at the door across the room. He hummed in contemplation. “I don’t know, some PMC or something, I guess.”

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Raiden was looking at Sam, inquisitive, but Sam still faced forward.

His face scrunched as he considered the question. “Not really.” They sat for a moment, both staring ahead at the door, a silence falling over them. 

Suddenly Sam shifted and turned to look at Raiden, titling his head to the side. “Are you okay?”

“What?” Raiden faced Sam, confused. “Yeah. Why?”

“Oh, uh… you were screaming in your sleep.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

Raiden tried to think of a witty reply but instead turned to face forward again.

“You too, huh?”

“What?” He side eyed Sam.

“Nightmares. You too?” Sam gave a sad smile. Raiden was taken aback.

“Yeah.”

“Hmm.” Sam leaned back against the pile of blankets, theatrically raising his hands and placing them comfortably behind his head. His right leg stretched out a little on the sofa, his foot close to Raiden’s left thigh. He stared at the ceiling and took a breath before starting. “I keep dreaming about waking up in that room with the lights and the unfamiliar voices and the pain in my chest.” His left hand wound its way down his body and began idly playing with the largest metal plate on the front of his chest. He looked pensive for a moment, his eyes narrowing and lips tightening. “It doesn’t really matter, I only need a few hours’ sleep every night anyway, thanks to the nanomachines. But it would be nice to go one night without waking up in a cold sweat,” he chuckled. He lowered his head, his eyes locking with Raiden’s, and he smiled.

Raiden huffed out a laugh and leaned back onto the arm of the sofa, head resting on his right fist. “Yeah,” he agreed, “I can understand that.”

Sam hummed again. “What was yours about?”

“What?” His head rose slightly.

“Your nightmare this morning,” Sam leaned forward a little, curiosity evident in the way he arched his brow, “what was it about?”

“Oh, uh,” Raiden hesitated. Would he tell him? He never really told anyone about his nightmares. It never seemed a good idea to him. Why bother burdening someone with something like that? Something that they can’t help him out with. And he could just tell that Sam would have something stupid to say about the content of his dream, so he really didn’t want to say anything. But Sam was opening up to him so much, surely it was just polite for him to do the same. And yet how could he tell him that he was dreaming of him? Of killing him, murdering him in cold blood. His face grimaced and his hands twitched, even though he tried so hard to stop it from happening. “I can’t remember,” he lied, his head plopping back down onto his fist as he once again stared ahead at the door.

He could just leave.

Sam looked as though he was about to challenge him. He’d obviously seen the flash of emotion on Raiden’s face. He opened his mouth and was about to start speaking when he stopped, leaned back into his previous position and nodded.

They sat in silence for a bit again, just listening to the sound of the birds outside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not exactly the most romantic chapter for Valentine's day.


	6. Chapter 6

Raiden looked deep in thought, his eyes flickering to and fro, eyebrows knotting together, metal teeth digging into his upper lip.

“Any plans for the day?” Sam asked, breaking the silence they’d found themselves in.

Raiden side eyed Sam, wary. “No…” he paused, “why?”

“No need to get on the defensive meni-” Sam caught himself when Raiden’s eyes tightened, “uh… I was just asking.”

Raiden sighed and leaned back against the back of the sofa, eyes closed, letting his head drop backward, his hair splaying out over the back cushion, the outline of his neck elegant. He threw his arms over the back, too. Sam swallowed. 

“Usually on days off I just lounge around the house, sometimes I read… Sometimes I’ll just go out for a walk but that usually leads to me getting attacked and I don’t particularly want to kill anyone today.” He tilted to look at Sam, eyes peeking through long lashes, sun lazily caressing his face.

_Christ._

He looked...

Sam averted his gaze and chuckled.

There was a short, mildly uncomfortable pause, then, and Sam shifted slightly, suddenly feeling the burning need to fill it in some way. But nothing came to mind. Raiden stared intently at him as if also deliberating what to say next.

He decided to play it safe and continued speaking, turning his head back to look at the ceiling. “Sometimes I’ll take the day out to train in my training room.” Now this definitely piqued Sam’s interest and he looked back at Raiden, curiosity plain on his face. “Doktor recommended that I get the VR training instead, but there’s nothing quite like actually physically training, y’know?” At this, Raiden shifted, bringing his head back down to look at Sam questioningly.

“I agree one hundred percent,” Sam replied. Another pause. Sam deliberated not pushing the point further. But… “How long has it been since you’ve practiced against someone, y’know, real?” He leaned forward, practically doubling over, propping his head up on his right fist that was atop his leg. He looked mischievously into Raiden’s eyes, giving him a cheeky, knowing smirk.

Raiden’s brow ticked and he glared at Sam. A long, slow breath left him as Sam’s smile grew wider… and wider. Raiden closed his eyes. “Fine.”

Sam gave a big toothy grin, “what?” He was being coy.

Raiden pushed Sam’s face away, using it as leverage to get up from the sofa. “Grab the Murasama, get suited up, and follow me.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam replied smugly. He watched as Raiden disappeared into his bedroom, getting just one small glimpse of the near barren, white space.

He jumped off of the sofa excitedly, feeling like a kid on Christmas morning. It would take him some time to get his gear on, but his excitement made the job that much quicker.

Simultaneously, Raiden calmly put on his outer armour, each one clicking into place with practiced ease, he eyed his sword and questioned whether or not this was something he actually wanted to be doing, considering the contents of his nightmare last night. He sighed, opted not to wear his visor and picked up the sword somewhat reluctantly.

In the other room, Sam sat patiently, all of his outer armour on, Murasama in hand. He stared at it, stroking it lightly, turning it over in his hands. God, this sword meant so much to him. It was silly, really, that a tool built for death and destruction could make him feel so happy. But, then again, it was something of a family heirloom. He smiled sadly, and stood with his back to Raiden’s bedroom door. Then, he held the blade in one hand, swinging it around slightly, as if getting used to the weight of it again. It was a weird feeling, almost like riding a bike, you never really forget how to do it but that doesn't make it easier to get back on it after months of not riding. Adjusting his stance slightly, he emphatically made a jabbing motion at the air and sighed inwardly. It just felt so right to finally be holding his sword again. It gave him a sense of purpose. A sense of belonging again. Finally, with one last, weighty swing, he ever so slowly sheathed it in its rightful place, on his hip. Smiling at the feeling of being whole again, he bent down to pick up the hair tie on the floor. He scooped his hair back and…

With a slight click Raiden opened the door, stopping to take in sight before him. There stood Samuel “Jetstream Sam” Rodrigues trying his hair back into a ponytail, the outline of his body highlighted by the morning sun. The faint lines of muscle hidden below armour and cloth beautifully shadowed on him.

Sam shifted his weight slightly and turned his head to look at Raiden, his arms still raised trying to tie his hair back, his hip popped in an interesting diagonal line. The brightening sunlight caught on the metal of his arm and glistened. “Ready, Raiden?” He grinned.

Raiden stood… and stared, his hand still firmly gripping the handle on his bedroom door. “Yeah…”

Sam turned around fully, finishing off tying his hair and flicking the stray strands in front of his face back with his hand. He flourished, bowed, opening his arms out and gesturing to himself. “How do I look?” he asked cockily, the stray strands falling back into their previous position.

Raiden snorted, unamused. He closed the door tightly behind him and gestured at Sam with his head to follow him before turning and walking away. Sam gave an unseen smirk before following obediently. 

Raiden walked up to the last remaining door in the room that Sam knew nothing about. He flicked his wrist and up popped a light blue electronic keypad. He was busily inputting numbers when Sam piped up saying “you’ll have to go easy on me this time, we don’t want you to get carried away like last time do we?” He chuckled at himself, leaning back, arms crossed.

Raiden froze, his hand twitching in mid-air as he stared blankly at the keypad. Images of the nightmare from the night before were flashing before him. Deep breath in, slow breath out. The mangled bloody body on the floor. The rush of pleasure at the thick metallic smell in the air. His hand clenched into a fist and in his peripheral vision he could see Sam move. There was a tight feeling in his chest, a certain dryness in his throat. He closed his eyes, trying to calm himself. Trying to stop himself.

And God, he tried so hard not to think about it but he couldn’t stop, not with the man standing so close to him. He’d killed him. He’d murdered him in cold blood. He’d-

“Hey, Raiden. Are you okay?” Sam placed a hand on Raiden’s shoulder, but Raiden’s rigid body suddenly sprang into action, jolting and shrinking back from it, causing Sam to retreat like he’d touched molten metal. Momentarily, Sam’s face tightened, a flicker of concern and confusion that was gone in an instant. There was a question of worry on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t dare voice it.

“I’m fine,” he said gruffly before entering the last few digits, the door sliding open with a hiss and a click. “Come,” he ordered, stepping into the long white hallway. Sam followed, opting to keep his mouth shut about what had just happened. Raiden was suddenly very cold, much colder than he usually was - which was a feat. He knew that pushing the point further wouldn’t end well.

After a while of continuing in one direction, the hallway took a 90 degree left turn. Sam thought that, surely, they should be behind Raiden’s bedroom right about now. Actually it felt like they should be outside of the building, but the hallway just kept on going. 

“Are we there yet?” he asked, jokingly. Raiden tutted, flipping Sam off nonchalantly without even looking behind him.

As they were nearing what looked like the end of the hallway, Raiden stopped suddenly and turned to face the wall to the left of him. He motioned with his wrist and another blue keypad came up. He tapped in the numbers, each one beeping as he did so, until, with a sudden clanking noise, part of the wall lifted to show an entrance into a hidden room. Raiden entered, with Sam following close behind.

What Sam saw was a large room, probably as large as all of Raiden’s apartment space combined, if he had to guess, if not even bigger. It was filled with various dummies, swords, guns, obstacles and other such training paraphernalia. Sam looked on, mouth wide with amazement, as Raiden approached the large open space in the centre of the room.

“Hey,” he began, Sam’s eyes flicking over to him and his mouth slamming shut, “I was thinking… maybe we could stick to wooden swords. We wouldn’t want what happened last time to happen again now would we?” Raiden tried to put a cocky air about the suggestion but he knew deep down inside that he was still worried about his nightmare from the night before. He just didn’t want Sam knowing about it. His hand twitched. He wouldn’t let it show.

Sam smirked. “C’mon, bonito, if you’re really worried that I’m going to beat your pretty ass, then we can always switch off the high frequencies on our blades so I don’t cut you into pieces,” he paused for emphasis, “again.” He stood, his hands on his hips, his head cocked to one side.

Raiden snarled. “I’m more worried about crushing your precious ego when I slam you straight into next week,” he growled, “and don’t fucking call me that.” He unsheathed his blade, looking duller than usual without the electricity flowing through it… and got into position. His sword close to the ground, his legs wide and bent. Like a cat, ready to pounce.

Sam moved so that he was directly opposite Raiden, his arm resting on his sheathed sword. He eyed Raiden up and then quickly unsheathed his sword and got into his stance, blade jutting out in front of him. “Okay,” he paused for emphasis, giving out a hearty laugh before finishing with “let’s dance.” His mask flicked into place.

Sam was the first to move, charging at Raiden with his blade dragging along the ground. He reached him and swung upward just as Raiden blocked, making Sam stagger backwards slightly. Raiden took this opportunity to try and stab at Sam but he effortlessly jumped backwards out of the way. Sam placed his blade in its sheath, and taunted Raiden, opening his arms out and shouting a “come at me, pretty boy”.

But Raiden wasn’t going to fall for that, he remained on the defensive, his sword ready to block whatever Sam had coming his way. Sam chuckled and walked slowly up to Raiden, as if he were playing a game of chicken with him. He came so close that Raiden tried to get a shot off at him by slicing quickly downwards, but Sam’s sword was there and in a flash had simultaneously blocked Raiden’s attempts and swiped at Raiden’s arm, scratching the metal.

They sparred for a while, the air filled with grunts and the clashing of metal. It was an intense training session which, if viewed from the outside, probably looked like a fight to the death. They were equally balanced, Sam's immense strength matched by Raiden's impossible speed. The balance and power of a larger man matched by the lithe dexterity of a cyborg built to kill. And yet, it wasn't long before there was a moment when Raiden slipped up and Sam took the opportunity to get the upper hand, swinging his sword at Raiden emphatically.

Raiden spun back but was swiftly winded by a foot to his stomach which sent him flying back a few feet and into the ground. He was quickly back on his feet, flipping himself off of his back and immediately coming back into the defensive, blocking the next slicing attack that Sam was trying to sneak in on him, Sam’s blade moving quick as a flash.

Raiden dodged the last slice and moved behind Sam who tried to turn his face to look at him. But Raiden was too quick, he took out Sam’s legs with his foot, slashed the sword from his grasp and kneed Sam between the shoulders, who fell face first into the ground.

Raiden climbed atop him, straddling the small of his back. He dropped his sword to the side of him and moved instead to force Sam’s left arm behind his back, he knew just where to put the pressure to make it painful. He was rewarded when Sam cried out in pain.

He lent down to Sam’s ear. “Give in yet, you sick bastard?” He whispered, smirking into the words.

Sam breathed into the ground, his face squished and red. “Not even close,” he grumbled, before lifting his head back and, with a loud crunching noise, he connected with Raiden’s nose.

Raiden’s hands flew from Sam’s arm and up to his nose, eyes closing in pain. Sam, both arms now free, pushed himself off of the ground, managing to get Raiden to slip off of him in the process. Raiden realised his mistake, but it was too late, Sam was up in a flash, pulling Raiden up with him by his neck. His mask flicked open.

Sam’s hand was nestled snugly under Raiden’s chin, lifting the man with ease. Raiden reached for the hand, fingers coming to claw at the metal. “You?” Sam questioned cheekily before slamming Raiden forcefully into the ground. Raiden fell with a hell of a thud, but managed to recover quickly, bouncing back into an upright position with ease.

He looked awful, blood pouring out of his nose at an alarming rate and a cut lazily bleeding on his upper lip. He spat red and quickly got into a fighting stance, his arms up, fists ready to form if needed. “If you wanna play dirty, then that’s what we’ll do. No swords, Sam,” he growled, swinging his right leg back behind him before lunging after Sam, right arm connecting with his face.

Sam recoiled but retaliated immediately, right arm punching straight up into Raiden’s lower jaw, splitting the cut on his upper lip wider. Sam could’ve sworn he’d seen a glint of red in Raiden’s eye momentarily and was taken off guard by it. So much so that he didn’t even see Raiden shift so as to kick him square in the jaw, hands on the ground to give him extra force behind the move.

Sam was dazed but momentarily. Once again he kicked Raiden in the stomach, his suit giving the blow a bit more momentum. Raiden skidded backwards, giving Sam some time to wipe the blood from his mouth before charging forwards with his right arm, the cold metal of his forearm coming into contact with Raiden’s throat and effortlessly pinning him to the wall. “Dirty enough for you?” He grinned, his teeth pink with blood.

Raiden replied by digging his nails into Sam’s scalp before tugging harshly at his hair, making the band slip free and fall, forgotten, on to the floor. Sam yelped but didn’t let up, instead opting to head-butt Raiden on his already sore nose.

Raiden reached up with his hands, tugged on Sam’s arm, hauled himself up and, with the extra momentum gained, kneed Sam pin point between his legs, who, despite the armour there, released Raiden and fell to the ground, crying out in pain.

Raiden looked down at the man writhing on the floor and smirked. Once again he straddled the man, this time pinning his back to the ground. He grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked it downwards. Sam’s head connected with the ground with a loud thud.

“Do you give in yet?” Raiden asked arrogantly. He pressed his weight into Sam more, effectively winding the man.

All Sam could do was breathe out his response. “No.”

“Oh?”

As quick as lightning Raiden maneuvered Sam so that his arms were trapped between his back and the floor. Raiden’s legs were spread between Sam’s, forcing them as wide as possible so that he couldn’t retaliate with them. His hand was planted firmly on Sam’s chest, keeping him from raising up and moving his arms. All of this without moving his other hand from his scalp. “How about now?”

Sam groaned in pain, unable to retaliate if he wanted to. He lifted his head slightly to glower at the man on top of him. Raiden’s face was dangerously close to his, he could feel his heavy breath ghosting across his cheeks, could see the blood-like substance trickle down his chin. His ass was wiggling in the air. He looked like a dog, or, rather, a wolf, happy with its kill. With one last burst of resistance, he tried to head-butt Raiden, but was forcibly tugged back down to the ground by the fist in his hair.

Raiden chided him, tutting softly at him. “Uh-uh-uh,” he added, bringing his face down to Sam’s ear. “I won’t allow that. Face it, Sam. I have you beat.” He chuckled lowly.

Sam turned his head away from the sound, refusing to admit he’d been beaten, again, by a scrawny, little, pretty blond boy. “Fuck you,” he spat. At this, Raiden leaned back and laughed but didn’t move himself from Sam, still pinning him to the floor.

Sam was helpless, Raiden had him completely beaten. He tried calculating his next move but soon came to the obvious conclusion that there was no next move. He sighed, let out a breathy laugh and said, “Alright,” in a defeated tone.

Raiden’s grip didn’t lessen, if anything, he made it tighter, forcing Sam to the floor even more than before. “Sorry? What was that?”

“You cocky bastard.” He glared at him.

“Funny that… coming from you.”

Sam grumbled. He scowled at Raiden, and gave him a mean, bloody grin. “You win.” Raiden’s lip quirked and he slowly removed himself from the man underneath him, standing up and walking backward to take in the sight of the beaten man.

Sam made no effort to move, opting only to stretch his arms out from underneath him. He lay for a while, panting.

Raiden went to collect their swords and when he returned, standing behind Sam and checking to make sure the blades were undamaged, Sam was sitting upright, wiping at the blood around his mouth. 

Sam reached up to dab at what he thought was sweat from his brow but when he looked at his hand he realised that that too was blood. He concluded it must’ve been from when he head-butted Raiden which, looking back, was not the smartest thing he could’ve done. He heard him chuckle from behind him. “You’ve gotten stronger,” Sam said in response. Raiden moved to be in front of him, handing him his blade.

“Either that or you’re more stupid, which, I know, is impossible,” Raiden joked. Sam snatched the blade from his hands and went to stand up, but found he couldn’t quite make it. So he fell, unceremoniously, back onto his ass with a huff. Raiden chuckled and extended a hand. “Here.” Sam stared before taking it, hauling himself back up to his feet.

There was a moment, then, when neither man made a move to disconnect their hands from the other. They were awfully close, their noses practically touching, and Raiden noticed Sam’s gaze flicker down momentarily before he looked back into his eyes. Raiden’s brain told him to do something that he couldn't quite put his finger on, but instead he just looked puzzled at the thought before removing his hand from the loose grip of Sam’s and taking a small step backward.

Now standing and balanced, Sam sheathed his blade with a click. Thoughts running a mile a minute. He’d had an urge, during that moment of stillness, to press his mouth against his opponent’s. An urge that confused him and coaxed him into a deep reverie. Just exactly what had happened in the last hour that had made him want to do such a ridiculous thing?

He flinched slightly when he felt Raiden’s hand on his face, thumb close to the cut in his lower lip. “Sorry,” Raiden said quietly.

“You did warn me,” was all Sam said in reply.

“C’mon,” Raiden started, turning to walk out of the now destroyed room. Sam looked around at the weapons that had fallen to the floor, the dummies that had been sliced nearly in half, the wall that had a rather large Raiden shaped dent in it. He hadn’t even realised they’d gotten that carried away. Whoops. “Let’s go get you fixed up.”

The journey back to the lounge seemed longer than it had earlier and it was filled with a deathly silence. Sam watched as Raiden walked in front of him, his body moving gracefully, not a single step or synthetic muscle out of line. Sam raised his left hand, slowly, to his tingling lips… and cursed himself under his breath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> (Sorry this is so late. Hope you enjoy their little scrap. I know it's not exactly woth the wait.)


	7. Chapter 7

When they returned to the lounge, Sam plopped himself down on the sofa with a hefty sigh and leaned his head back. He took a moment to collect himself before he started peeling off his outer armour.

Raiden headed straight for the kitchen, grabbing a piece of kitchen towel in the process and forcing it to his face to slow the bleeding from his nose and lip. He rooted around in a low cupboard for his limited first aid kit. Standing, he lay the contents of the pack out on the table. He had enough adhesive bandage for the wounds and a couple of bottles of nanopaste left that he could use to adequately heal the both of them. Raiden wouldn’t admit it to Sam, wouldn’t let him know he’d had this much of an effect on him, but he could use some electrolytes, too.

Raiden’s eyes flicked over to the man sitting on his sofa, sprawled and lazily trying to get the rest of his armour off. He scoffed. “If you get blood on my sofa, Rodrigues, you’re paying to get it cleaned.”

Sam took off the last remaining part of his outer armour, now only wearing his leggings and undershirt. “Better not get blood on your sofa then, huh, Bonito?” he lay his head back against the back of the sofa, feeling the coolness of the leather against his hot, damp neck. He stretched further, clicking his neck and back, a satisfied smile playing on his lips… until he winced in pain at his split lip.

Raiden was kneeling in front of him quite suddenly, yanking his face down to look him in the eyes. He painfully gripped Sam’s cheeks with one hand, pursing his lips, metal nails digging in to the soft flesh. “Don’t call me that,” he growled, reaching up with his other hand to smear some of the nanopaste into the cut. Sam hissed through his teeth.

Raiden regarded Sam with a cold expression, his eyebrow twitching in annoyance at him. He stared for a moment at his lip, eyeing the cut with a sort of curiosity.

A shift in the air.

His fingers stopped, rested on it. Then, ever so carefully, he smoothed the paste in. His thumb was resting on Sam’s chin, a featherlike touch, as his fingers massaged the injury. But his other hand’s grip remained, harsher now with the contrasting gentle touch of the fingers tending to him.

Sam released a breath, and swallowed heavily, eyes looking down slightly at the face of the man kneeling between his legs. Raiden’s eyes were focused on his lips, eyebrows knotted together with concentration and something that Sam misjudged as annoyance.

Blue eyes flickered up to meet with brown momentarily, before quickly averting to instead regard the blood on Sam’s forehead.

“I thing tha’s jus yaw ‘lood thur, Royden,” Sam struggled out through his still puckered lips.

Raiden carefully swiped at the blood, revealing a gash on Sam’s forehead. He removed his hand from Sam’s lips and brought the nanopaste up to the cut. Sam reeled back slightly from the stinging touch. “Looks like I was wrong,” he spat.

“You must’ve cut your head when you head-butted me. That’s what happens when you connect soft human flesh with sharp metal,” Raiden snorted jokingly. “You fucking idiot.”

Sam chuckled but the sound was cut short when he felt Raiden squeezing and bandaging the gap in his lip together. He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut. “A little warning would’ve been nice, Raiden.”

“You don’t have to be such a baby,” he retorted.

“Really now, your bedside manner is appalling.”

“The bleeding isn’t stopping. I’m just doing what I think is right.”

“You just could have warned me is all I’m saying, bonito.”

Then Raiden presses his finger to the wound a little too harshly, causing Sam to give a small grunt at the pain.

“Whoops. Sorry,” Raiden said. Clearly he wasn’t though, an amused smile on his face. But at least he was a little gentler with the rest of the tape.

After a short time, Sam was all patched up, his lip taped up with a butterfly closure and a plaster over the cut on his forehead. He’d sat through the few minutes watching Raiden’s every move. Every twitch of his concentrating face. And not a word was said between them for a while, even when Raiden had finished tending to him they just sat, Raiden’s eyes flickering to check over Sam, Sam’s eyes trying to catch them.

Sam’s hand moved without much thought, fingers pressing lightly on the cut on Raiden’s lip. And in an instant the pressure was gone, a wide eyed look on Raiden’s face as he shot backwards from the touch.

“You’re still bleeding.” A quiet observation.

“I’m fine.” A quieter answer. He stood, picking everything up from the floor, before he moved to the kitchen to tend to his own wounds. Physical touch when he wasn’t on the receiving end of a fist or a foot was not exactly his strongest suit.

A deafening silence washed over them as he felt Sam’s eyes watching his every move, he wanted to run from the gaze, wanted to make the burning stop, just wanted the focus to shift to something else.

“Are you hungry?” Sam still ate food, right? That was surely a good way to start a conversation in order to get some of the uncomfortable feeling of Sam’s unwavering gaze away from him. He focused on returning everything to the cupboard, ducking out of Sam’s line of sight for a second to try and regain his composure.

And it worked. “Starving.”

Raiden moved to the fridge, knowing already that there wasn’t much in it. But he opened it anyway, stared, tutted, and closed it again. “Take away?”

“For breakfast?”

There was a moment where Raiden regarded the time of day. He stood, turned back around to eye Sam who was sprawled lazily across the sofa, legs and arms outstretched, face pointed to the ceiling.

Raiden smirked at the sight. “We could go out and get brunch?”

“Brunch?”

“It is 11 O’clock.” Raiden replied flippantly.

Sam grumbled. “We could go out and get brunch,” he agreed. “But I can’t go out looking like this,” he motioned to tightly clothed self, but still didn’t raise his head to look at Raiden.

Raiden’s breath hitched inaudibly. “Yeah…”

Sam sat up, spry and all at once excitable. “Okay! I’ll go and get something from my hotel room,” he paused to overly dramatically stretch his arms, joints clicking, “and then we’ll meet back here and you can show me around town.” He stood, got to putting his leg armour on.

“Sam…” Sam paused what he was doing and looked at Raiden curiously, thigh armour dangling from his hand. “I don’t think going back to the hotel is a good idea.” He also, fleetingly, was concerned about what people might say about them if they both turned up with the wounds that they did. Hopefully by the time that Sam returned at least Raiden’s own lip would have healed. He’s sure he could use some more nanopaste to speed up the process, at least.

“Why not?” He straightened, then sat with an ‘oof’ as he moved to put the armour on.

Raiden moved closer, leant against the corner of the counter that separated the kitchen from the rest of the room. He crossed his arms. “Because it might be dangerous.”

“I’m a big boy, Raiden. I can look after myself, you know. Besides, I doubt you have anything big enough for me in your wardrobe.”

He was right. All of Raiden’s clothes were big enough to fit his much smaller physique. Sam, however, large and muscular as he was, probably wouldn’t have even been able to fit his foot through Raiden’s jogging bottoms before tearing them to pieces. “That’s… true,” Raiden agreed, “but…”

“Look, I’ll only be gone for a little while. I’ll go, get changed, and come back before you know it.” Now he stood, fully protected and grinning sheepishly. “Besides. If anyone tries to get the drop on me…” he walked forward, arms open, head cocked to the side, “I’ll cut them into tiny pieces.” His voice was low and quiet, just above a whisper. But he was close enough to Raiden now for him to be able to hear it. He was practically close enough for Raiden to be able to feel it.

Raiden shifted on the countertop.

“How will you get home?” Blue eyes staring through long lashes into brown ones.

All at once Sam’s heat was gone, the space he left was cold and baron as he bent over to grab his sword from the floor. Raiden willed himself to keep his gaze anywhere but Sam’s ass. It was like he was doing it on purpose. Like he knew how good he looked and wanted the rest of the world to know it, too. Raiden’s eyebrow quirked. He certainly wouldn’t put that past the man, cocky and egotistical as he was.

“I’ll just run there.” He answered, standing upright and scooping his hair back. “And then I’ll come back on my bike.” He turned, frowning. “Do you have a hair tie?”

Raiden shook his head.

Sam shrugged, flipping his hair back out again. It cascaded around him, some strands falling in front of his face, the majority of it fanning around his neck and shoulders. Now that Raiden looked, really looked, it was much longer than he’d thought it would be. Just past shoulder length. It suited him.

Sam walked past where Raiden was perched, straight to the door. Raiden watched him from the corner of his eye, body tense when Sam was close, muscles and breath releasing when he’d passed. He didn’t turn his body to follow him no matter how much his brain seemed to want to do just that. Wanted to watch him leave.

“I’ll be back before you know it.” He was at the door, had practically closed it behind him when it swung back open again. Raiden jumped around to look at him, surprised. “It’s a date.”

With a wink and a cheeky grin, Sam was gone.

A… date?

Raiden’s brows drew together. That guy really did know how to annoy the absolute shit out of him. His cocky, flirtatious demeanour was exactly the kind of personality that he couldn’t stand. Arrogance wasn’t a quality he admired in people, more of a quality that made it sure that he’d kill you. Slowly. With great pleasure.

But…

Despite the fact that Raiden knew that Sam was just teasing and being an idiot, he still couldn’t help but replay that word in his head. He moved to the window, hoping to catch one last glimpse of Sam. Maybe scowling at him despite the fact that Sam wouldn’t be able to see it would make Raiden feel a little better. But he was already gone.

A date…

Did Sam mean it?

Was he just teasing?

What does one even wear on a date anyway?

It had been so long since…

Before the questions and that particular train of thought could fully cross Raiden’s mind, a high pitched beep pulled him from them. It was his phone ringing in his bedroom. In his haste to answer it, he forgot to glance at the caller ID and answered with a monotonous “Raiden.”

“Hey man, it’s good to know you’re alive. Thanks so much for calling me last night to let me know!”

Shit.

“Shit, sorry Kevin. I got…” he struggled to find the right word. “Distracted.” That would do.

“Yeah, I mean, no worries. It’s not like I thought you’d died or anything.”

Raiden hummed, returning to the wall length window in the living room. “Sorry,” he replied, mind once again wandering to thoughts of Sam. To what he meant. To why he couldn’t stop his mind wandering to thoughts of Sam. To the anger that he felt when he did think about him.

“Wow… you really are distracted. Are you okay? What happened last night?”

Raiden shifted, tore his eyes away from the pavement below and nestled the phone closer to his ear. “Sorry, Kevin,” he sighed, running his free hand through his hair. “I met an old… acquaintance last night.”

“Acquaintance?” Raiden could hear the quotation marks in his inflection.

“An enemy, of sorts, I suppose.” He returned to his room, opening his wardrobe and scowling at the limited selection of clothing.

“Oh, that’s why you didn’t call, huh? Sorry, didn’t know you were fighting someone.”

“No, that’s not,” he stalled, corrected himself, “I mean, we did end up fighting but not each other.” Kevin gave a questioning hum on the other end of the phone. “We were attacked by cyborgs so – I mean – we fought them off.”

There was a long pause and a muffled sigh on the other end of the phone. “Please tell me you then beat the shit out of this ‘acquaintance’.”

Raiden laughed a little. “No, not exactly. We were talking before we were attacked.”

“Talking.”

“Yeah.”

“With an enemy.”

“… yeah?”

“And you didn’t fight them.”

Raiden stopped, his hand clutching a long sleeved plain white suit shirt to his chest. “I mean…”

“Have you hit your head or something?” At this, Raiden gave a quick snort. “You do know that the bad guys are, like, bad, right?”

Raiden contemplated that for a second, staring blankly into his wardrobe. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“Raiden. An enemy’s an enemy’s a-”

“Is an enemy. I know, Kevin,” he paused, threw the shirt on the bed and made to grab a pair of plain black trousers. “But I don’t think he’s an enemy. Not anymore, anyway.”

Raiden heard Kevin’s chair squeak through the phone and imagined him sitting forward on his chair, face in his hands, elbows on the edge of his desk. There was a sigh, long and vocalised. “Do I- does Maverick know him?”

“No,” Raiden lied without skipping a beat. “No, he’s an old enemy.”

“And you believe he’s on the straight and narrow now? What on earth can a guy say to suddenly get on your good side like that?”

Raiden wondered how much he could hint at without giving the game away. He simply answered “He, uh… helped me save the world.”

“And you just fell out of contact with him or something?” Kevin’s low and muffled voice let Raiden know that his previous imagining of him sitting with his head in his hands was actually probably a reality.

“He died,” he said curtly, glancing at the clock.

“He died? Shit, man, I’m sorry. How did that happen?”

Raiden froze, his hands making fists. One nearly breaking the phone, the other scrunching the material of the trousers. His mouth went dry, a lump in his throat. The small breaths that were managing to escape him were quick. He was panting. Deep breath in.

Deep breath in, Raiden.

“Raiden?”

“I killed him.” He answered quickly, trying hard to keep the tension out of his voice. But the way his jaw was clenched belied his emotions as the answer came out nearly hissed.

“Shit. Sorry. I shouldn’t- Sorry, man.”

Deep breath in, slow breath out.

He threw the trousers on the bed to join the shirt. “It’s okay, Kevin. You weren’t to know.” A pause, then, “I have to go.”

“Yeah, no, of course.”

“Bye Kevin.”

“Look, wait.” Raiden’s hand twitched around the phone, frightened that Kevin was going to ask who it was or how they were back. “If there’s anything we can do for you, you let us know, yeah?”

Raiden released a silent breath. “Yes, of course. Thank you Kevin.”

“Any time, man.”

An awkward silence filled the static.

“Anyway. Good luck with it all, man.”

“Thank you Kevin. Goodbye.”

With a beep, Raiden returns the mobile to the bedside table. And all at once the whole apartment feels empty and cold. He stands in his room, fists rhythmically clenching and unfurling as he tries to slow his breathing back to a normal rate.

He’d killed Sam. But Sam had saved him. And now Sam was back. Sam had told him everything. Sam had had a change of heart. Sam wanted to be friends. Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

With a tense jaw and huffing a breath, Raiden turned to look at his bed where his dress shirt and trousers lay crumpled. He wasn’t necessarily dressing up for this… _date_ \- but it was all he had that would cover all of him up. He wasn’t going to go prancing about out in public in his skin and slacks, but he wasn’t one for leaving the house in his uncovered cyborg body either. So, this was the best he could do.

He started removing his outer armour, contemplating where to take Sam for what would probably now be lunch, considering the time. Truth be told, he was a little hungry too. Which was something that didn’t really happen all that often. Clearly hardly ever, going by the fact that his fridge was actually empty when he went to look in it and he’d forgotten that shopping for groceries was a thing that he needed to do. Humans needed to eat. Cyborgs less so, particularly when it came to consuming electrolytes, but he still needed to. Still enjoyed the sensation. Still liked to lie to himself sometimes.

He rummaged in his upper drawer for his leather gloves, and started removing his nails.

_A date…_

He was trying not to dwell on it so much, and the fact that his brain kept replaying it in his head like some sort of broken record was really starting to drive him up the fucking wall, but – there was something in the way that Sam had said it, winking and grinning like he had. Raiden knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Sam was just being his general assholish self but for some reason his brain was thinking ‘well what if?’ and he couldn’t stop thinking it.

Grumbling at his idiotic self, he started dressing to try and take his mind off of it.

_A date._

If he knocked himself unconscious maybe that would stop his brain saying that.

_A date._

If it didn’t stop soon there was going to be a lovely hole in the bedroom wall because his fist was going to make a home for itself there.

Dressed now and devoid of all armour, he moved to what he liked to call his ‘other wardrobe’ and placed his armour in there, simultaneously taking out the skin for his lower face.

DJ’s was a safe bet. When all else failed there were always pancakes. Raiden liked pancakes. Pancakes he could do. Pancakes were easy.

_A date._

Shouting, he tugged his gloves on with his teeth and kicked his bed. Anything to try and stop his brain from repeating that for the 100th time.

An idea.

He was as covered as he could be, now, dressed from head to toe to stop prying eyes and embarrassing conversations and shocked gasps from little kids. Those were the worst, of course. That even young children saw him as a monster.

He picked up his phone and dialled the number.

“Hello?”

“Hi, sweetie.”

“Euuuugh, Raaaaiiiideeeenn! What have I told you about calling me that?”

“Sorry. Hi Sunny.”

She giggled, and Raiden breathed the first comfortable breath he’d had since... Well, actually, it felt like since Sam had spoken those words down the phone. “Heya, Rai-Rai, what’s up?”

Raiden grumbled but also sort of took the nickname in his stride. It was nice to have a nickname that wasn’t an insult or something that confirmed how much of a murderer he was.

“Not a lot. How are things on your end?”

There was a moment of silence and he heard the girl shift on the other end of the phone. “That’s a bit of a loaded question,” she replied, voice a little lower than it was a second ago. “Dad’s having a pretty bad day, and papa’s trying really hard to get him out of bed today, but…” she sighed, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”

Distantly, on the other end of the line, Raiden heard a voice. “Who is it, honey?”

“It’s Raiden, papa!” She exclaims in return.

“Oh! Tell him Hal says hi. And David, too, of course.” Then, “Yes, okay, don’t give me that look. I said to say hi from you, too.”

A light laugh travels down the phone before Sunny speaks. “Papa told me to say hi from him and Dad.”

Raiden chuckles in reply. “How are things going with your projects? Made any interesting rockets lately?” He’s changing the subject for Sunny’s sake, can tell talking about David was not one of her favourite pastimes.

She makes a thoughtful sound. “Yeah, I mean, I designed this rocket the other day, right?”

Raiden hums an acknowledgement, sitting down on the edge of his bed. He smiled despite the fact that she couldn’t see it. He loved listening to her talk, particularly when she went off on a rant about someone at work, as she was wont to do because, as she usually put it, they were all “useless idiots” who usually needed her to set them straight. 

“And the useless idiots” there it was “that work for me keep telling me they don’t understand how they’re supposed to build and work it! And I’m like, guys, it’s right there in the blueprints. Like, it really isn’t that hard.” There’s a pause then. Then a guffaw. “I was gonna say it’s not like it’s rocket science but I guess it is, huh?”

At this, Raiden lets out a genuine laugh, and all of the tension he’d been feeling washes away with it. “Yeah,” he replies, “it really is.”

They share a light-hearted moment together before Sunny’s curious voice asks “So what are you ringing for?”

And Raiden genuinely doesn’t have a straight answer for that other than “I just wanted to check up on you.”

Sunny hums.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. You just don’t sound too sure about your answer.”

Raiden’s heart skips a beat. Goddamn this kid was bright.

“Raaaaiiiideeeeen?”

“Can you put your father on the phone?”

“Awh. Chicken! Taking the easy way out as always. Yes, of course, let me go get him.” And despite the fact that the whole exchange is a pleasant one, Sunny’s usual reply of ‘yeah, which one?’ being absent lets Raiden know just how bad things are over there right now.

There’s a moment where Raiden’s anxiety nearly starts getting the better of him again for a completely unknown reason, and he considers just hanging up.

But then Hal’s voice interrupts his thoughts with a “Hi, Raiden.”

And Raiden can hear how exhausted he is. It’s that same high pitched, fake happy voice that he always puts on when he’s trying to be strong.

“Hey, Hal, how are you?”

A pause. A sigh. “I’m okay.” And Raiden knew it was a lie, but really didn’t want to push it any further. Didn’t even follow up with his usual ‘how’s David?’ because God knew that upsetting the man was not something that he ever wanted to do. He shifts slightly on the bed, looks once more to the clock. Tries to stop thinking about _him_.

“How are things on your end?” Hal asks.

And Raiden doesn’t really know how to answer. Because how does one say ‘I met a man that I killed who tried to create a war big enough to throw the world into disarray because of his own stupid ideals oh and we’re kinda friends now’ without sounding like an absolute nut case.

“Eventful,” he says instead.

“Really? How so?” And, ah, there’s the genuine high pitched curiosity that Raiden knew and felt comfortable hearing.

“It’s a long story. Made a friend, though.”

“You?! Shocking!”

A mutual bout of laughter rang through the phone, light and carefree. “I know,” Raiden replied in between breaths.

But the moment was cut short when Hal hissed “Shit,” muffled by what Raiden could only guess as him turning his face away from the receiver. “Coming, honey,” he heard him call, frantic and anxious. “Sorry. I have to go.” A pause. “Sorry. Did you need to talk to me about something?”

And Raiden didn’t really have much of a reason for calling Sunny, let alone for calling Hal. So he just says “No I just wanted to call.” And, “it’s okay, understand.” He tried not to say it quite as flatly as he did, but it came out sounding like he was angry at the man. Which he wasn’t. Not at all. He worried for him. He worried for the both of them. For all of them. He loved them. They were his family. “It’s okay, Hal.”

“I’m so sorry, Raiden.”

“It’s okay.” He contemplated not saying the next sentence but- “Tell David I said hi?” And it was a question, because he didn’t want to have to force something like that on Hal when David clearly wasn’t well.

“Of course.” Then, “shall I put you back on to Sunny?”

“Yeah, Hal, that would be nice.”

“Okay.” He heard him call for her and heard her reply in the background. “Oh!” Hal started like he’d forgotten an important piece of information. “Raiden…” he practically heard the man push his glasses up. “You really should come visit sometime – sometime soon – Um… Dave and Sunny really miss you.” And Raiden knew, from the tone of his voice and the way he’d emphasised the word ‘soon’, that that wasn’t altogether the whole truth.

“Of course, Hal.”

“I really have to go. I’ll pass you back over to Sunny.”

“Bye Hal.”

In the shuffling of hands, Raiden could hear a muffled “here you go, Sunny” and “coming, Dave!” from Hal.

“Hey, Raiden.”

“Hey, Sunny.”

“Sorry about that. Papa gets a little worked up over nothing, sometimes.”

“That’s okay, I understand.” And he really does. He couldn’t imagine how hard it must be for someone to look at the person they loved each day, watching them die, and not being able to do anything about it. He’d feel like shit if it happened to him. If it happened to-

“So back to our conversation we were having earlier, chicken.” Sunny pulls him from the thought.

“I’m hanging up,” Raiden replies in mock anger.

“Oh no you don’t, mister moody. I know there’s something going on there that you’re not telling me about.” Raiden hears her tapping the phone. It actually almost feels like she’s really there, standing on her tiptoes and poking him on the chest whilst looking menacingly into his eyes. “I will figure it out, you know.”

“I don’t doubt that for a second.”

He wishes he could see her smile.

“I have to go. Papa needs my help.”

He’s glad he can’t see her frown.

“Okay. Love you, sweetie.”

“Eeeeuuuuuuughhhh.” She groans.

“Sorry. Sunny.” He corrects himself.

“That’s better.” She chides. “Love you, too, Rai-Rai. See you soon, yeah?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

And just like that the apartment is empty again. And Raiden is all alone. He moves to the kitchen to put some more nanopaste on the wound on his lip. Then he skirts around the counters to move into the living area. He sits on the sofa. And waits.

And waits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for sticking with me throughout this. I hope to start updating a bit more now that I've finished uni forever, but who knows... I'm quite lazy.
> 
> If you want to, you can come follow me on Tumblr at cashasthephonebox.tumblr.com where I sometimes take requests and prompts and also where you can often see sneak peeks for future chapters.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another dialogue heavy filler, a jump forward, and some good old-fashioned bonding.

When Sam returns, he’s wearing a loose white tank top that looks like it had some sort of witty slogan on it before it became so faded, baggy black jogging bottoms, and some comfortable looking trainers. He’s also got a tatty leather jacket on, as if he were feigning safety on his bike. His hair is tied in a messy bun, his hands are on his hips, and he’s got the most annoyingly cocky grin on his face. Raiden wants to punch it off of him but finds himself smiling too when Sam flourishes in the doorway and says “care to accompany me?”

Good lord he’s annoying. Raiden smirks as he pushes past him, his hand on Sam’s face as Sam chokes out an annoyed sound at being bossed and pushed around. When his hands are free, Raiden locks the door and moves off, without looking towards Sam, towards the elevator.

The ride down is, for some reason, quite tense as Raiden can’t quite keep his eyes off of Sam’s chest. He’s jealous that Sam can feel like he can get away with just flaunting the unnatural parts of his body. That he’s human enough that he feels like he can get away with it and not have to worry about the insensitive questions or the crying children. That that metal was there because of him. That he wasn’t nervous about people whispering about his arm or spreading stories about the burned flesh around his chest plate. He hated him for it a little. He was curious about it. He didn’t want to talk about it.

“I can’t believe you’re so blasé about your cyborg enhancements.” He certainly didn’t mean for it to come out like that. Heck, he didn’t mean for it to come out at all. Yet here it is. And the conversation hangs in the air for an extremely uncomfortable moment. He hopes that Sam’s going to drop it, that maybe he hadn’t heard him.

“I can’t believe you’re so nervous about yours,” Sam says, staring at the elevator door. He shrugs, turns his head to look at Raiden. “I don’t see why you would be,” his eyes flicker over Raiden, covered head to toe in clothes too posh to be going to a pancake house “there’s nothing wrong with who you are.”

Raiden scoffs. “There’s nothing wrong with being a monster?”

This causes Sam to turn his full attention to him. “And you think you’re a monster, do you?”

Sam’s face is full of concern, Raiden is staring at him with a challenging expression. He’s about to fight, his shoulders bunching up, his fists balled, the creaking of the leather deafening in the sudden silence of the elevator. But before he can spit out his response, with a ding the elevator stops and opens up. Raiden pushes past, spits out “drop it, Sam.”

The ride to DJ’s is quiet after that. Raiden never once takes his hard gaze away from the road, and his grip on the wheel is tight. Sam spends the entire time with his head on his hand, staring out the window at the city passing him by.

When they arrive at DJ’s, some of the unwarranted anger has subsided from Raiden’s body and he loosens up a little bit.

They eat, they enjoy each other’s company, Raiden even manages to laugh a little bit at one of Sam’s stupid jokes.

Inevitably, someone starts staring at Sam from behind him, and Raiden notices when they start whispering to their friend. The girl points to her own lip, the same place where Sam’s is taped together, before she motions to her arm. Her friend turns to look and gasps, turning back around to whisper back. And all at once Raiden’s good vibe disappears and the nervousness returns.

What if someone recognises one of them? What if someone talks about them? What if someone initiates a fight with them? What if everyone in this café just turns on them right now and kills them like the monsters that they are?

“Ignore them,” Sam says, his face suddenly blocking the view of the women as he stretches and leans his head over to get Raiden’s attention. Raiden’s eyes flick over to Sam’s and he sees no worry there, not even the slightest sense of fear or self-loathing and he questions how. How could one man be so sure of himself that he doesn’t get worried about what other people think of him? And part of him really wishes that he could be as care-free as Sam is in this moment. He wants nothing more than to just go out and enjoy his pancakes. Just this once.

“They’re talking about you,” he replies, voice low and quiet.

“Let them talk.”

“How are you okay with this?”

Sam just shrugs, leans back in his chair, giving Raiden a full view of the space where the women were. He flicks his gaze around the room, trying to see where they’d gone to. “I guess I’m just used to it,” Sam says, distracting Raiden from his task. Sam shovels a forkful of pancake and cream into his face.

“I don’t understand. How does it not bother you?” Raiden’s hands twitch around his cutlery as he stares at the cream and banana on his plate. He breathes in through his nose, long and deep. He breathes out through his mouth.

“Why does it bother you?” Sam retorts around another bite of his brunch.

Raiden looks at him then, hard and angry. His knife and fork haven’t moved from his relentless grip. “I’m worried about what they’re saying about me,” he says, realising the mistake in talking about himself and not Sam. 

“Why do you care about what they’re saying about us?” He’s grateful at Sam’s use of the pronoun, feels a little less exposed now that it’s not just about him.

“Because I’m worried about the untrue stories they’re making up.”

“Why?”

Raiden snarls a little, wishes that they’d just drop the conversation again because it’s not one that he likes thinking about, let alone having.

“Because they’re not true.”

Raiden tries to busy himself with eating the rest of his meal. He really just needs to get out of here as soon as possible. He wants to get back home where there aren’t prying eyes constantly watching his every move. Where there are no gasps or giggles directed at him. Where he can sink himself into his training and not have to think about his inhumanity. How disgusting he is. How fucking disgusting he is.

He hears Sam sigh, feels the light touch of his fingers on his hand. He tries his best not to recoil because he doesn’t want to cause a scene. Doesn’t even want to think about the amount of eyes that would be looking at him then. He just connects his gaze to Sam’s.

“You are not a monster, Raiden.” And, God, Sam looks so sincere that Raiden almost believes him for a second. They maintain eye contact as Sam continues. “And fuck whatever these people are saying. People whisper and talk and bitch. It’s what people do, it’s what they’re best at. What matters is what you think about yourself. What your loved ones think about you.”

Raiden’s face contracts slightly as he wonders where this sudden intense emotion is coming from, how Sam can suddenly be so deep and meaningful. He wonders whether or not he’s just bullshitting him, whether he’s just saying this sentimental crap so that they can move on from this conversation. He’d thought that Sam didn’t have a serious bone in his body. That he didn’t think beyond fighting and lying. That he couldn’t.

But he sees no mistruth when he looks at Sam. No cocky grin or hint of malicious intent. For the first time in a while, he sees someone who isn’t wary of him or scared of him or distrustful of him. For the first time in a long time… he sees a friend.

“The young lady at the launch site, what was her name?”

“Sunny,” Raiden whispers, eyes faltering slightly from Sam’s gaze.

“Sunny. She loves you, yes?”

Raiden nods slowly.

“And she doesn’t think you’re a monster, right?”

Raiden swallows. “I… sometimes I wonder if-”

“Raiden,” Sam pushes his fingers into the back of Raiden’s hand with a little more force. “She doesn’t think you’re a monster.”

This time it’s more of a statement than a question but Raiden shakes his head slightly anyway. “No… she doesn’t.”

Sam leans back again, removing his hand and turning his attention back to his plate. But Raiden doesn’t move. Doesn’t take his eyes off of Sam. Waits for something to ruin this moment. Waits for reality to come crashing back to him in the way that it always does. Waits for the badness to come.

But it doesn’t. Not even when Sam jokingly snorts and says “besides, with a body this good, why would I want to hide it away?” looking up to Raiden and giving him a cheeky wink.

And Raiden is so glad that the focus of the conversation has been taken away from him again. So much so that he actually manages to snicker a little. A snicker that becomes a small chuckle. Which eventually evolves into full blown laughter as he can’t quite believe just how cock-sure and full of himself Sam really is.

And if people weren’t staring at them before then they certainly are now as they laugh together, light-hearted and all at once relaxed. But Raiden can’t quite bring himself to care about them.

When they’ve finished their meal they return to Raiden’s apartment because it’s still not safe for Sam to be spending too much time in or around the hotel, as he’d found out earlier.

“There were police cars surrounding the place,” he’d recounted to Raiden in the car on the way back. “I had to enter via the roof access. Thank God they were too stupid to think about actually looking inside the hotel.”

Back in Raiden’s apartment, they spend the rest of the day talking. Mostly about Sam, as Raiden isn’t really one to talk about himself.

He learns a lot about him. About his life in Brazil and his parents. He learns about how he was taught the way of the sword by his father, and how his mother had taught him about right and wrong. He learnt about how he’d lost his mother when he was only 6 years old.

“Disease,” Sam said. “My father never told me what it was. I guess I was too young to understand it all anyway.”

He’d reminisced then. Told Raiden about how beautiful his mother was, inside and out. How she was the reason that Sam had such strong ideals when it came to good and evil.

“I thought about her that day at the Badlands,” Sam admitted as they sat across from each other on the sofa, their backs resting lazily against the armrests. “I thought about what she’d have said to me if she could have seen what I’d become.” Sam had huffed out a breath then and rubbed his face with his hands and stopped talking. Raiden didn’t press that point any further.

But Sam did continue talking, even managed to get some responses from Raiden about the limited amount that he could remember from his childhood. Raiden omitted a lot of the painful memories too, mentioned that he’d been a child soldier, to which Sam replied that he’d known that.

After a short while Sam mentioned something about waking up on that operating table in Brazil. About doctors in white masks and bright lights and flashes of pink feathers and silver knives.

They sparred for a while in the training room, creating an even bigger mess in there than they already had that morning. Sam won this time, having used all of his weight quite effectively when he’d pinned Raiden to the floor. Their breathing was heavy, their bodies close. Perhaps they spent just a few seconds too long lying there on the floor, Sam’s chest rhythmically pressing into Raiden’s with each heaving breath.

When they returned to the living room they ordered in Chinese. Well, Sam did, as he was actually hungry. Raiden was happy to snack on some prawn crackers as they sat opposite each other on the stools that Raiden had originally placed around the counter as decoration more than anything else. Raiden sits on the side of the kitchen, watching as the sun begins to set behind Sam as he tucks into his noodles.

And Sam doesn’t return to the hotel that night… nor the next. Actually for the next week he spends every day and night in Raiden’s apartment. Training either on his own or with Raiden. Sometimes they go out to DJ’s or try another café or restaurant. Despite the fact that he’s pumped full of nanomachines and running mostly on electrolytes, Sam’s appetite appears to be like that of a normal human’s.

Raiden brings it up one day when Sam’s slurping up some cereal that they’d bought when they’d gone on a trip to the supermarket. They’d had to go and get some actual food to put in the empty fridge and cupboards. Sam replies that his appetite is less than it used to be… but that he used to have a massive appetite, so he laughs and says that he guesses that that’s why he eats like a human now.

Sometimes Sam is left alone in Raiden’s apartment, although it takes more than a week for Raiden to become comfortable with that, and even then he gets Sam to agree to never set foot in Raiden’s bedroom. But Raiden often has to leave on little ‘assignments’ that Maverick sets for him despite the fact that he doesn’t technically work for them anymore. More often than not, Sam will leave when Raiden does so that he doesn’t end up getting bored. Although he does spend a number of days taking advantage of the brilliant training room… after the day that he spends in there tidying it up, of course. Sometimes Raiden will come back to his apartment and find Sam so deep into his training session that he doesn’t even realise that Raiden is watching. On a few occasions, Raiden joins him, but they manage not to destroy the room.

It’s not all fun and games, however.

One night, three weeks into Sam’s stay, Raiden is forcibly awoken by screams coming from the living room. He’s alert immediately, springing from his bed and deftly picking up the SOCOM that’s hidden beneath his bed. In one quick movement, Raiden is at the bedroom door and is armed. With a flick of his wrist, he twists the handle and allows the door to slowly creak open. His finger is barely off the trigger when he enters the room, gun up and ready. What he sees is not exactly what he was expecting. The room is completely empty, save for Sam’s presence on the sofa.

Sam.

Who is sitting up with his back pressed against the arm of the sofa and his knees drawn to his chest. Sam who is rocking slightly with his arms behind his head. Sam who is breathing heavily.

Raiden does a quick sweep of the room with his eyes, uses his enhancements to make sure nobody is hiding from him in the dark. When he knows the coast is clear, he slowly drops the weapon and makes his way over to Sam.

“Sam?” He questions, a little irked to have been awoken from a dream that was actually quite pleasant. But Sam doesn’t respond, just shivers slightly in his hunched state. Reaching out to him with one hand, Raiden starts again “Sam?”

But he finds himself winded and on the floor, Sam’s pressure hard against him and the cold, thin metal of a knife at his throat.

“Sam!” He shouts, reaching for the gun which had slid from his grasp when he’d been forced to the floor. It’s just out of reach, and moving his head to try and look at it causes the knife to nick a cut into his throat. “Sam, it’s me! It’s Raiden!”

In his mind he thinks that he should have seen this coming. That it’s obvious that their sudden friendship was too good to be true. That an enemy is an enemy is an enemy. Always and forever. If he wasn’t so tired due to lack of sleep and lack of caring, he’d try to fight back a little harder. It turns out, however, that his friendship with Sam is still making him second guess himself.

Raiden’s about to give up and succumb when the sharpness at his throat dissipates and the weight on top of him lessens. He hears the breath in Sam’s throat before he even begins to talk.

“Jack?” Sam shifts his weight onto his shins. “Raiden? _Merda_ , Raiden, I am so sorry.” He stands, stretches his hand out to help Raiden up off of the floor. “I am so, so sorry. I thought…” He stiffens noticeably, “I thought you were one of them.”

Disbelieving, shaken, and a little perturbed, Raiden shoots back “Who?”

To which Sam replies “One of the doctors” and dejectedly slumps onto the sofa, head in hands.

With a sigh, Raiden turns to pick the gun up off of the floor. He swiftly disarms it on his way back to his room before flinging it onto the bed and closing his door when he re-enters the living room. Flicking on the lights, he takes in the vast emptiness of the room and the slumped figure of the man sitting on his sofa.

Carefully, he sits himself beside him, notices the way Sam’s muscles tense when he feels the dip in the seat.

Raiden sighs, staring ahead. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sam shakes his head, still planted firmly in his hands.

“It’s better if you do. Trust me.” Raiden replies.

Sam’s breathing slows, a slight wheeze making itself known on the in breath. With one last large huff he sits up and back, opens himself out, spreads his arms against the back of the sofa. His cocky demeanour intact.

“It’s nothing, bonito. Sorry to have scared you, though.”

Raiden’s eyebrow ticks. “Okay, two things. One, stop calling me that.” He grumbles when Sam tilts his head to smirk and wink at him. “Two. It’s not nothing. Talk.”

“So harsh. Like a strict teacher.”

Raiden’s mouth twitches at the remark. Although whether it was going to be a smirk or a snarl he can’t quite tell. “Sam…”

Sam turns his head away, tries to mask the fear in his voice when he starts. “I was having the same nightmare I have every night…”

Raiden relaxes into the sofa, pops his elbow on the headrest and his head on his hand, attentive. Understanding.

“Every night it’s the same thing. There’s muffled voices, bright lights, metal objects. Surgeons and doctors in white suits with their faces covered. Always. Always there’s this quick flash of colour and I’m in so much pain. My chest burns, my heart feels like it’s being torn out.”

Raiden fidgets slightly. He knows what it feels like to be torn apart from the inside out.

“And then it’s like I wake up. But I’m not really awake. I used to wake up back in Brazil, in the place that I was squatting in for those few months before I came here. And I used to just start slaughtering the people around me. The faces that I’d seen during the day. And I couldn’t stop, no matter how hard I tried. It was like there was this power inside of me that was urging me to kill.”

Raiden shifts again. He definitely knows exactly what that feels like.

Sam’s body tenses even more when he continues, his face hard and staring at the door. “But now I see the flash of colour and I hear the laughter and I feel the burning… and I wake up here… But it’s not really… here.” He pauses, jaw tense. When he turns to look at Raiden, his eyes fix fleetingly with his. Like he’s nervous to say what happens next.

“It’s ok,” Raiden whispers out meekly. “I understand.”

Sam chuckles. “I wake up here. You’re there and I just… I just slaughter you. It’s not quick, it’s not playful. It’s just animalistic and I’m tearing you limb from limb… And then… _Cristo_ … when you came in here a minute ago I thought I was still dreaming.” Sam’s arms contract into his sides almost instantaneously, his hands clenching his thighs. “Just one wrong move and that nightmare would have been reality.” He turns his head to look away before softly saying “I am so, _so_ sorry, Raiden.”

He doesn’t really know what to say to that. The silence between them in those few seconds is almost unbearable. Raiden thinks that maybe Sam would be better off left alone. But… he’s been there… with Rose. He reaches out slowly so that Sam knows that the touch is coming and isn’t startled by it. Carefully, he places his hand around Sam’s clenched fist and notes the way that it tightens slightly before it loosens.

“I understand, Sam,” is all he says. Because what more is there to say when you find out that a friend suffers from exactly the same nightmares as you? What more is there to say when someone you care about needs comforting?

“It takes time,” Raiden offers meekly with a weak smile that falters slightly when Sam’s head turns towards him so that he can give him an incredulous look.

“I cannot believe that you just said that,” Sam chuckles out. “That is so cheesy,” he says with a wet, yet still surprisingly cheeky grin.

They laugh for a moment, releasing some of the tension in the air.

Raiden offers his story. He tells Sam about the nightmare that he had the other night and about the time that Rose woke him up from a nightmare. It’s not a competition, the stories that they share during the next hour, but a way of getting them out in the open. They're laughing. They joke about how stupid they both are. And talk about how they completely understand one another.

And their hands remain together on Sam’s thigh. And if their fingers interlace slightly then neither of them mentions it, but neither of them exactly make a move to pull away either.

It’s hit 3am by the time that Sam starts nodding off again, and Raiden’s the first to move. He’s opened the door and half stepped inside his bedroom when he hears his name from behind him.

“Raiden,” Sam starts, pausing until Raiden responds by turning around. “You look comfortable like that… in your skin.” Sam smiles, lying back languidly over the sofa.

For the first time since he woke up Raiden realises that he’s actually not wearing his armour. He looks down, takes in the sight of his pale skin, his baggy white tank top, his dark blue fabric shorts. He’s barefoot. He’s showing as much skin as is really possible whilst still being modestly decent. And he hadn’t realised. He hadn’t felt uncomfortable or watched or tense. He hadn’t felt unnatural or disgusting or nervous. In fact, he’d been more comfortable in the last hour than he has been in a long time.

Quietly he says goodnight to Sam, shuts the door slowly behind him, and marvels at the feeling in his chest as he leans back against the painted wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for this taking so long and for it being another dialogue heavy filler chapter. I've got the next few planned out but not written up yet and I'm hoping they'll be a little more interesting.
> 
> I've been having a lot of difficulties in my personal life recently and I'm really sorry for being so bad when it comes to updating. Things are looking a little bit better (I hope) so if I get the time then I'd like to start catching up to where I should be. (This month's chapter was meant to be chapter 12 as I was hoping to get some things done story-wise before this fic's one year anniversary next month. However it doesn't look like it's going to be the case. Apologies for this.)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Christmas with the Emmerichs... and Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologise profusely for this taking so long. When I started writing it in September I really didn't think that I'd be posting it around Christmas yet here we are. I got a promotion at my job and it's sucking all the time and life from me. I'm so, so sorry.
> 
> Mild warning for this chapter because Raiden has a bit of a panic attack and some shit goes down but don't you worry.

The next week goes by without much in the way of interesting activity. Raiden gets called out a few times to help Maverick, which sparks a conversation between him and Sam about just how far his non-contracted work contract goes with them.

Sam sometimes goes back to his hotel to pick some things up. Everything has more than died down now. The police presence is no more and Sam hasn’t so much as heard a siren around the place in at least two weeks. But that doesn’t stop him going back to Raiden’s apartment. There’s something decidedly more fun and interesting in sharing one’s life with someone else rather than sitting in a dingy hotel room questioning what to do with oneself as the days dwindle and waste away. 

He enjoys Raiden’s company and, despite how much and how often he protests, Raiden enjoys his company just as much. If not more.

For two years now, Raiden has been living completely alone in his apartment. Sometimes people come to visit. Sunny often comes around to natter and escape the difficulties at home. Courtney enjoys going out for coffee with both him and Kevin. They think Raiden doesn’t know about them but he does. He’s not that much of an idiot. Every now and then Rose comes over with John and they spend some quality family time together. Despite the fact they’re not married anymore, it’s not awkward or weird.

Things fizzle sometimes and their relationship did just that. It wasn’t meant to be. Mutually they agreed that they weren’t good for one another. Raiden didn’t have the time to pay enough attention to what Rose was going through, and Rose didn’t quite have the same life experience to understand what Raiden was going through. They still love each other, that hasn’t changed, but in a more friendly way.

John’s old enough to understand what’s going on, in the end he was the only thing really keeping them together to keep up the façade. But he understands. He’s glad his parents have broken up but are still together as friends. It works better for him that way, too. It’s what’s best for everyone, really. They’re all happy.

This, of course, doesn’t stop Raiden grumbling every time they go out and Rose starts spoiling John. Sometimes Raiden questions if he’s the only responsible one in the situation. But then he sees something that he can spoil Rose with… so he does, and that question goes out the window.

They’re always laughing together. On paper their family would be seen as a mess. A young boy whose parents had split, a woman who’d been left alone, and a man who had lost everything, even his mind. But in reality they tear that paper up. They love one another like a family should, it just so happens that the parents are no longer together. And it works for them. Perfectly.

Raiden hasn’t really seen anyone very often recently, what with Sam camping out in his place. It doesn’t seem right, he feels a little anxious, actually, like he’s harbouring a fugitive and at any minute one of them is going to be taken away. But there are a few days when Sam gives him privacy and leaves so that Raiden can enjoy some quality time with his other friends.

Friends.

Raiden doesn’t know when he started feeling comfortable with the word but suddenly he does. He’s happy to call the people in his life his friends. All of them.

Sunny, as always, is the first one to see that something’s changed about him.

He goes to their cabin one day, says hello to the dogs whose names he remembers, teases David a little about the fact that there seem to be more dogs now than there were the last time he came around.

“Well if you came over more often, maybe it wouldn’t be quite so surprising.”

David smells of smoke when he chuckles deep in his throat and throws his arms around Raiden.

Raiden returns the tight hug, nodding over to say his hello to Hal who’s watching on with fondness evident on his face. “Yeah, I know. I’m just awful aren’t I?” When he’s done with David he walks over to Hal, smiling big and bright, and gives him just as fond a hug. “I missed you guys.” When he pulls back from Hal, his eyes flicker to the side slightly and his voice lowers to a whisper to ask “good day?”

Hal breaks his gaze as it wanders to David, who is busy lighting a cigarette and petting Frank, one of their dogs. Certainly enough he doesn’t know about the conversational shift between the two men. Hal replies “good day.”

They part, Raiden turning around to search the room. “Okay,” he says loudly, “I know she’s here somewhere. Where’s my cute, sweet, charming, darli-”

A long, loud, multisyllabic and completely overly dramatic groan gives away Sunny’s position before she even enters the room, face frowning. That is, until it lights up with a beautiful smile and she all but bounds over to Raiden, throwing herself at him for a loving hug.

“Heya, Rai-Rai.”

Raiden can’t even fake a grumble at the nickname. Sunny pulls herself from his chest to look at him quizzically, but Raiden leans down to give her a kiss on the cheek and she’s too busy trying to wipe it off to question why Raiden didn’t react.

Raiden’s not one for physical contact. But when it comes to his family, he loves them too much to care.

That’s what the Emmerichs are to him. Family.

After saying their hellos and some idle chatter, they all sit in the living room around the wooden coffee table, drinking beers and telling stories. Well, Raiden, Hal, and Dave are drinking beer, Sunny is busily engaged in tinkering with some sort of metallic object in her hand. She's got her feet up on the table, and curled under her legs, sleeping peacefully, is one of the younger pups, Johnny. In front of him is Bladewolf whose tail is swaying languidly as he lays slumbering.

There’s not really a lot of point in Raiden drinking the beer, it doesn’t soothe him or dull him like it used to, and he can hardly taste it. Not like he enjoyed the taste of it when he had real taste buds anyway. But he does it because it’s what feels right in the moment.

Conversation turns to what Sunny is doing but it fades quickly as the only person who has even a vague idea of what she's talking about is Hal, and even he only understands half of it. But they're no less interested in the conversation, nor are they any less proud of her or who she's grown up to be. 

It's not long before they start talking about the real reason for Raiden's visit. Presents. Yes, tomorrow it will be Christmas, and Raiden's come bearing gifts, as he does every year. He used to come with Rose and John, but nowadays they come separately. Sunny doesn't seem to mind as she says she gets more gifts now anyway. She might be joking when she says it but it's true.

It's gotten late and the fire's on now to try and combat the chill in the air. Most of the dogs are snuggled together in front of it, with Bladewolf in the middle of the pile.

It’s warm in the house, but it’s more than just the temperature. It’s got something to do with the feeling of the situation. Raiden is impossibly comfortable and happy, he’s openly laughing and enjoying himself, Sunny has moved over to the seat next to him so that she can snuggle into his side. Everything is just so perfect.

Hal nervously plays with the ring on his left hand when he hands Raiden his gift and leans back into Dave’s warmth. It’s a fairly new habit of his when he’s nervous. Raiden wastes no time in ripping the paper off of the gift and throwing it into the growing pile of rubbish in the middle of the room. It’s a book, a paperback.

“To add to your collection and keep your days off interesting,” Hal chuckles as if embarrassed by the situation. “I thought it might be an interesting read.”

“Thank you Hal, I love it,” Raiden answers. It’s the truth but he mostly says it to put Hal at ease. And Hal smiles, and David takes a drag off of his cigar and smirks, and Sunny giggles into Raiden’s side. She’s fiddling with her new screwdriver, using it on the metallic object that she was working on earlier.

The room is filled with strong, musky smells, a waft of cinnamon coming in from the kitchen, the sound of excited chatter, the soft breathing of the dogpile that’s migrated away from the fire’s overbearing heat.

Bladewolf is busily engaged in playing with a chew toy that Sunny bought and enhanced to withstand the pressure of his jaw, Raiden is studying the blurb of his new book (it’s about computer programming, but it claims to hold an interesting fictional story within as well), and Hal and Dave are looking at the new gizmo that Hal made for Dave. Well, Hal’s teaching David how to use it, but David’s too busy teasing Hal to really be listening.

The oven dings out its completion and Hal removes himself from the sofa, and Dave’s embrace, to go and check the pie. Dave follows behind him like a baby duck imprinted on its mother, arm outstretched so he can paw at Hal’s back as he moves just too quick for Dave to really catch up.

Raiden watches as David does, and when he gets there he places a kiss to Hal’s temple and links his fingers with his. They disappear into the kitchen together, whispering and laughing to one another. Happy and completely, utterly, madly in love with one another. Raiden can’t help but feel overwhelmingly pleased and blissful for them. And yet… he can’t shake the feeling that something – no, someone – is missing.

“Okay,” Sunny says, drawing his attention away from the kitchen to her analysing face. “Something’s happened to you and you know I’m gonna figure out what it is, right?”

Raiden swallows. “I don’t… understand?” The inflection at the end of the sentence breaks slightly, wavering.

“You’re… different.”

“How so?”

Sunny squints, her nose scrunching as she concentrates to try and find the correct words. “Well first of all, you’re not wearing your gloves,” she starts. Calculates her next sentence.

In the quiet, Raiden looks down at the skin of his hands, startled not only by the fact that he was showing skin but also by the fact that he hadn’t noticed it until Sunny had pointed it out just now. His mouth gapes slightly at how he could have forgotten to cover up, he can’t believe he’d forgotten this morning before leaving. He thinks back to what it could have been that stopped him, what it could have been that stopped his usual routine.

And he remembers. He remembers breakfast with Sam. He remembers waking up to the – albeit very faint, to him – smell of bacon cooking, and the sound of Sam singing in Portuguese. He remembers laughing as Sam got sauce all over his face like an idiot. And the gloves were right there on the countertop, waiting for him to put them on.

And he remembers picking up his keys and saying goodbye and leaving. And they’re still on the countertop.

He looks back at Sunny, confused with himself. A little self-conscious.

“It’s ok, Raiden,” Sunny beams, “It’s nice to see you so comfortable.” She goes back to tinkering but finishes the conversation by saying “you seem happier.”

“Who wants pie?” Hal shouts from the kitchen and Sunny’s up like a shot, shouting about how the last person into the kitchen gets the smallest slice. It’s ok, Raiden’s not very hungry anymore anyway… and he’s still preoccupied with staring, flabbergasted, at his unclothed fingers.

The rest of the evening goes without much of a hitch. Dave has to excuse himself for a short while when he has a coughing fit, Hal going to check on him after a few minutes to make sure he’s ok. One of the dogs, Joy, gets into a bit of a tiff with Bladewolf when she tries to steal his toy. Bladewolf thinks that the best idea in order to get her to stop is to shout at her. In English. Like she understands.

But the rest of the evening is perfectly fine. Hal and Dave retire early, claiming to be extremely tired, but with the way that they’re chuckling and how they can’t keep their hands off of one another, Raiden thinks otherwise.

When he stands, he’s startled by a small hand grabbing his, drawing back from the sudden touch.

“Sorry,” Sunny says. “I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just…”

Raiden sighs, stretching his hand back out to softly take her hand in his. “It’s okay. Sorry.”

They hold hands for a while, revelling in the contact, Sunny smiling from ear to ear.

“You really are different,” she says. “And it really is nice. I’m happy for you.” She unhooks her hand and pushes at his arm. “Now go, you big idiot. I’ve got important stuff to do before bed and you’re standing in my light.”

Raiden snorts, gathering his things. He leans down to kiss her hair, “Bye, sweetie. Merry Christmas.”

“Catch you later, Rai-Rai. Merry Christmas.”

The drive back to Denver isn’t too appalling. The weather’s a little tedious, it slows him down on the 285 a little, what with the snow, but he makes it back in good time anyway.

Sam’s still awake when Raiden enters his apartment, sprawled out on the sofa with a book in his hand, and the lamp that they’d bought the other day is bathing the room in a soft golden light. A warm looking blanket covers him from neck to ankle, his feet sticking out from underneath and hanging over the edge of the armrest.

“Merry Christmas, Raiden,” Sam says, propping himself up on his elbow and placing the book on the floor. It had not long since reached midnight which meant that it was, indeed, now Christmas Day.

“Merry Christ-” Raiden stops, noticing the state that the living room is in. There are fairy lights around the window and streamers stretching from the corners of the ceiling to the middle where they attach to one of the light fixtures. There’s a large white tree in the far corner of the room, beautifully decorated with baubles and trinkets, a small collection of gifts underneath. “-mas.”

Sam, grinning cockily, stands from the sofa to slowly make his way over to Raiden. “I went out and bought a few things to decorate the place,” he begins, softly grabbing Raiden by the arm. “I hope you don’t mind.”

Raiden is speechless as he’s led over to the window. Sam bends down to switch the lights on and Raiden looks on in awe as they reflect off of the window slightly, the snow falling softly outside. It’s…

It’s beautiful.

“I don’t mind,” he answers after a while. When he turns back to Sam, he’s looking at him expectantly with a gift in his hands. “Wait,” Raiden says, disappearing into his room momentarily to grab a gift of his own.

When he returns, Sam is sitting on the sofa again. Raiden realises, all of a sudden, his state of dress. Or, rather, his state of undress. Sam is topless, his hair back in a bun so messy that he has to reach up and brush some loose strands away every now and then. He’s got his jogging bottoms on again, but his feet are as bare as his upper half, toes tapping an unknown rhythm on the floor.

Raiden takes a moment to take his jacket off and fling it back into his room. He rolls the sleeves on his dress shirt up in an effort to make himself more comfortable, before he finally closes the door to his room behind him and walks over to the sofa.

When he gets there, he hands Sam his gift and receives his from Sam. Their eyes lock momentarily as they smile at one another, before they each tear into the wrapping paper.

Sam beams at the fabric shirt in his hand. It’s the same as his other one, but the slogan remains. Unfaded. Sam reads it out with a chuckle, “First class male.” With a snicker, he turns towards Raiden and thanks him.

But Raiden’s just… sitting there. Staring at the well-loved and tatty book in his hands. The faded words read _Contos Da Carochinha._

“Old wives tales… basically,” Sam says, still looking to Raiden for any sort of reaction. “Mamãe used to read them to me when I was young. Mostly as bedtime stories, I suppose.” Sam shifts. Raiden touches the book’s front, opens it carefully to a random page. “It’s in Portuguese so you might not understand a lot,” Sam says, fidgiting slighty. “I can translate it for you.”

Raiden flips through some of the pages, understands a little of the story he’s landed on. Sam laughs next to him.

“You said... you told me the other day how you didn’t really have a childhood so I thought it might be nice to... catch up?”

Raiden lets out a gasp.

“So... Children’s stories. It’s my copy, which is why it’s a bit a bit battered. It was already old when Mamãe was reading it to me, you see? I didn’t quite have the time to order one online... even if I could find one just like this.”

Raiden runs his fingers down one of the pages, thinks that if he concentrates hard enough then he can absorb information about Sam’s childhood from it. He can practically see Sam’s mother, leaning over his bed, her long dark hair cascading over him as she kisses him goodnight. The bright, loving smile that lights up her face when she pulls back and sees Sam already sleeping soundly.

If he had the capacity to, Raiden would be crying right now.

As it is he just swallows, turns to face Sam and just whispers “Thank you, Sam. I... I love it.”

Their eyes connect.

“I love...”

Raiden’s voice catches in his throat.

“... it.”

There’s a moment.

A heavy pause between them.

A look. Held. Almost indefinitely.

Sam’s the first one to break it.

He moves to place a soft hand against Raiden’s arm, leaning in.

Raiden can just barely feel the pressure of Sam’s hand, but the feeling’s definitely there. It makes him wish that he could get goosebumps, it makes him wish that he had hairs that would stand on end… it makes him wish that his heart would beat faster. But none of it happens. Not even when Sam reaches up to touch his face and whispers “Merry Christmas, Jack”, shifting closer still, pausing, his eyes roaming over Raiden’s face as if searching for… something.

But Raiden doesn’t return the affection. His hands are clenched into fists on his thighs and he’s trying very hard not to run or punch Sam square on the jaw. The chemicals rushing through his body are telling him to fight, that anyone this close to him must be an enemy. He’s in danger. His life is in danger and he needs to choose to fight or run.

He twitches backward and Sam removes his hand as though he’s just touched fire.

“Sorry,” Raiden croaks, hands fiddling with his sleeves as he pulls them down as far as they’ll go. At once, his fingers are trying to hastily correct his clothes so that he hasn’t got too much skin showing, they twitch at the hem of his shirt and fumble at the collar as he desperately tries to make himself feel comfortable again. But there go those parts of his brain that have been rewired to make him what he is now. Everything’s firing, telling him to escape, that death is inevitable. His fingers are shaking.

“Bonito,” Sam reaches out.

“I- I should get changed. This was stupid. I can’t spend a whole day like this. I knew that, but…” Raiden stands, Sam grips his wrist. He startles. “I should get changed,” he repeats, tugging his arm. “I need to change into my armour, Sam. Please?”

“Don’t.”

Sam’s grip remains.

“Please.”

“You don’t have to hide from me, Bonito.”

“Don’t call me that.” And there go the other parts of his brain, the ones telling him to fight, mixed signals that would make any human feel nauseous, would make their head spin. But he’s not human. Not anymore. He’s a monster.

He’s a monster.

He stops tugging. “Let me go, Sam.”

Sam must feel the shift in tone because he does immediately.

“You should leave.”

“You don’t have to hide from me, Jack.”

He hates being called that. It reminds him too much of who he once was. The killer. The Ripper. “You should leave, Sam.”

Like a rubber band stretched too far, the tension finally snaps.

“You shouldn’t feel like you have to hide this side of you,” Sam all but shouts as he shoots up from the sofa.

“I am a monster, Sam,” Raiden retorts, equally as loud and angry. “I was recreated to kill or be killed, that’s all. The skin I wear is a lie.”

“You are so much more than that, Jack.”

“Stop calling me Jack!”

It echoes through the empty room, the fairy lights flashing behind them, the tree standing forgotten in the corner. They’re stood still in front of the sofa facing one another, the world outside oblivious to the argument.

"You don't know me," it's barely a whisper breaking the silence in the room. "And you will _never_ know me. You're not my friend, Sam. Just an enemy without a cause." Raiden stares at him, then. Part of him knows that it's true, that they're still just each other's enemy. But part of him wants so much for it to be a lie. For them to stop fighting. For them to be... friends.

But, of course, that doesn't happen in this world, does it? "You should leave." And at this point Raiden doesn't know who he's trying to protect from whom.

Sam grins. “You know what, Raiden… maybe you’re right. Maybe you are a monster. But it has nothing to do with your cyborg enhancements.” He takes the few steps forward, crowds Raiden’s space, squares up to him. “You think that the way that you are is because of what this body has done to you. But you forget that you were a killer before this, _Jack_.” He spits the name with venom. "And you need to get over yourself and come to terms with it." The rest of the nickname goes unsaid but it still hits Raiden like a tonne of bricks. So he does the only thing he knows how to do when he feels like this.

He punches the smirk right off of Sam’s smug face.

“Get… the fuck… out of my apartment,” Raiden grits out as Sam hunches over, hand over his mouth as he tries to collect the blood from his re-split lip.

His teeth are pink when he sneers back at Raiden, “You think that pushing people away will make you feel better? You think that you’re protecting them from yourself by covering your skin and hiding in your room?” He laughs, spits blood onto the floor, rises up again. “What’s to stop you from snapping one day, huh? From giving in to that voice in the back of your head and slaughtering your loved ones?”

Raiden punches him again, revels in the cracking sound that Sam's nose makes beneath his fist. “Get out of my fucking apartment!”

Sam’s not stupid, he knows when he’s been beaten. He gathers his things, wiping the blood from his face every so often and chuckling to himself.

Raiden watches, body stiff. “You are pathetic, Sam. A disgusting excuse for a human being. No, a _cyborg_.” Sam stops momentarily, bent down next to his sword. “You wanted to get revenge? You wanted to rid the world of the kind of people who killed your father, and where did that get you? Working for one of them.” Raiden pauses, spits out “Maybe the only monster in this room is you.”

The blunt force of the sheathed Murasama connects with Raiden’s stomach, winding him and putting him off balance as he stumbles backwards to try and accommodate it.

Sam chuckles darkly as he heads towards the door, hand on the handle. He pauses. “You’re right, _Jack_.” He opens the door, the lights in the hallway flicker to life. “But at least I’m coming to terms with it.”

“Don’t come back.”

“Oh, you can count on it, pretty boy.”

Raiden shakes slightly at the sound of the slamming door but he doesn’t exactly regret what he'd said. Sam had been obnoxiously rude and Raiden had been having none of it. With clenched fists and tight jaw he turns to look at the now empty apartment, at the slight fog surrounding the wall length window and the snow falling gently on the world outside.

He's still reeling, fists clenched tight and jaw locked. He wants nothing but to punch his anger out, but he knows where that gets him and that's the thing he's actively trying to avoid. So instead he settles on focusing on what he can see and hear.

Outside there is the sound of distant cars and the softest of patters as the snow hits the window. The empty fridge makes a dull humming noise as it whirrs to life, cooling the lack of contents inside. If he focuses hard enough, he can hear the tick of the watch on the countertop in the kitchen. He doesn't own a watch. Sam must've left it.

Before his mind wanders too far down that path again, he begins focusing on what he can see. Out of the corner of his eye, nestled carefully beneath the tree, he spots a small, elegantly wrapped gift, its tiny box shape nearly drowned by the size of the large silver bow on top of it. He has it in his right mind to ignore it or bin it but he realises that, despite it all, he doesn’t have the heart to do so. Picking it up from under the tree, he reads the small note attached. "Raiden," it says in surprisingly flowing handwriting, "I saw this one day when I was out and it reminded me of you. It's only something silly. Merry Christmas. Sam." Perhaps it would be rude to open it without him here, however Raiden had made it quite clear that he didn't want to see the man again in the foreseeable future so… it would just be sitting there collecting dust if he didn't do something with it. And besides, it was his gift. It belongs to him.

So he unwraps it. Carefully. The argument is still fresh in his racing mind but as he removes the paper he ponders just what could be inside the small leather box within.

It's certainly not something he could have ever expected. Inside is a small, white, porcelain wolf figurine, beautifully sculpted and perfectly pristine, save for the small lightning shaped crack traveling down it's left hind leg. It's howling, and stretched out to put force into it. Its eyes seem closed, its neck elegantly outstretched, it stance firm. It's beautiful. And if anything were to encapsulate so wholly who he was, it would be this small lightning wolf. Fast, predatory, sleek, territorial.

And, once more, completely alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will let you know right now that I love angst. This story was never going to be free from it. I thrive off of it. I will also let you know right now that it will always, always be resolved. Because if it's one thing I love more than angst, it's making up afterwards.
> 
> Thank you all for sticking with me. I'm not sure if updates will be coming once a month yet as my job is sapping all of my energy from me and any free time I have I spend playing games and sleeping. I hope to see you all again soon for the next chapter.
> 
> Sorry.
> 
> Thank you.


	10. Chapter 10

[](https://ibb.co/kS4zbb)

He’s covered in blood. It’s not his own. It’s never his own. He always has so much blood on his hands.

It’s difficult to get any kind of footing on the slippery tarmac below him, wet with rain, blood, and electrolytes as it is. But the waves after waves of cyborgs just don’t seem to stop coming. One after another they attack. In pairs, in threes, in groups. It’s hardly fair, Sam thinks, as they fall like domino. They probably don’t know who they’re up against.

All he’d wanted was to clear his head. All he’d wanted was to go for a walk and figure some things out. Nothing ever goes quite as planned for him.

It had been a few weeks since his argument with Raiden and there wasn’t a moment where he wasn’t thinking about it and regretting every second. There was no reason for him to have said any of the things that he’d said. Raiden had firmly rejected his advances and he’d still pushed himself on him. He’d riled him up… and then he’d insulted him. In his own home. The one place where he can be himself and not feel watched or scrutinised. The one place where Raiden can just be… Jack.

Comfortable. 

Human.

Sam growls as he pierces another cyborg through the heart, indulging in the agonizing scream he gives out, before swivelling and cutting the one approaching from behind in two. The ground is littered in bodies and he takes a moment, in the slight reverie that he has, to question just what the fuck is actually going on here.

Why were these cyborgs here? What were they doing attacking him on the outskirts of Denver? And why were they targeting him?

-

Across the city, Raiden wakes with a start, his phone beeping incessantly on his bedside table. It’s Courtney. He’d been expecting a call, but he hadn’t been expecting it at - he blearily glares at the clock - 6am. Instead of picking up the phone, he sits up in his bed and turns on his internal codec, answering a little more gruffly than he’d been aiming for.

“Good morning,” Courtney’s voice comes through a little stern. She looks calculating, stressed, like something very bad has happened. “We’ve managed to intercept numerous calls about cyborg activity throughout Denver this morning. They’ve finally helped us triangulate where we think they might be operating from.”

An image flashes up in front of Raiden, a map with a small area circled. He enlarges it with a few flicks of his fingers. The map shifts to give him a 3D view of the highlighted building. He leans forward a little bit, intrigued.

“We’ve narrowed it down to this warehouse here,” the map zooms in as Courtney sighs, long and drawn out.

“Are you okay Courtney?”

“Fine,” she replies, taking a short swig out of her mug. Raiden can only hope it’s coffee and not something stronger. “It’s been difficult here recently. Something’s happening somewhere but we can’t figure out what or where.”

_Sam_ , Raiden thinks. _It has to be about Sam._

The map zooms in again to show a highlighted route.

“This should be the best place to infiltrate the warehouse. As I said, we don’t know what could possibly be in there so we ask you to be careful,” her face flashes with emotion as she stumbles over her words slightly, “if you take the job, of course.”

“Is it causing disruption to innocent lives?” Raiden deadpans, staring at the map and fiddling with it to get a better knowledge of where he was going.

“Yes,” Courtney replies, looking at something on another screen and swearing.

“Then I’ll take the job.” Raiden tries a smile.

“Did you just smile?” Kevin pipes up from off screen.

“Good morning, Kevin,” replies Raiden, as Courtney swears again and the screen changes to Kevin.

“Passing you over.” She sounds frustrated so Raiden doesn’t question it.

“It’s all kicking off over here,” Kevin fills in. “We’ve had some problems with one of the cyborgs working in the construction section in our firm. He’s fine, just needs some time away from work whilst he works through some things. But the construction company he’s hired to is trying to claim some form of compensation claiming that cyborgs, and I quote, ‘shouldn’t need time off for mental health reasons as that is a human problem.’” Kevin snorts in disdain.

“They’ve clearly never met a cyborg before, huh?” Raiden quips, eyes flicking between Kevin and the slowly pulsating map. Raiden’s not exactly a picture of mental health.

Courtney chuckles darkly off screen, “clearly. They’re claiming that we should reprogramme them to become a better worker which is, y’know, immoral and against contract. So we’re trying to find out if we need to get lawyers involved.”

“Sounds shitty,” Raiden empathises.

“Yeah well, another day in the life of Maverick,” she replies.

Kevin nods solemnly.

“This warehouse, why do you think they’re operating here?” Raiden draws the conversation back before any of them get too deep into thinking about how crappy the world is.

Kevin controls the map from his end, bright red spots surrounding the warehouse in an almost perfect circle apart from a few outliers. “These are taken from the calls that we’ve intercepted in the last week or so. People claim that they’ve seen cyborgs fighting each other in these areas. After a while it started to paint a pretty obvious picture.” Raiden hums in agreement. “It’s been difficult to pinpoint over the last few weeks,” Kevin sighs, rubbing his face. Raiden notes how tired he looks. “It seems like the centre point has changed a few times. Like they keep moving their operation.” A few more points of interest light up on Raiden’s screen. Relatively close together but far enough away so as not to arouse suspicion. They fade and the screen returns to the warehouse. “So…” Kevin begins, a hopeful lilt to his voice, “we don’t know whether or not something will actually be there but… if you could check it out.”

“Of course.” Raiden raises his hand to hang up but hesitates at the last second. Perhaps he should tell them about Sam…

“Thanks.” Kevin catches on to the moment of hesitation. “Anything else?”

Raiden smirks. He quickly thinks of a lie to cover the pause. “Tell Courtney I said good luck.”

He hears her mumble off screen.

“She says thank you.”

“No. I didn’t.”

“Well she meant to say thank you.”

“Nope.”

At this Raiden really does smile. He may not have liked working for Maverick all that much, but he’s glad that the company gave him these friends.

-

When he gets to the warehouse it’s eerily quiet. He uses the route that Courtney and Kevin talked him through earlier and manages to sneak his way past a few cyborgs. It seems strange to him that such a large building could be taken over and repurposed this way without anyone knowing about it, but that’s not something he can worry about now.

There’s no sign of any intelligence in the warehouse. No computers or other technology that he can hack into and see what’s going on. Even the cyborgs themselves don’t appear to be doing anything other than…

What were they doing? Were they searching for something?

“Clear,” one of them shouts, confirming Raiden’s suspicions.

This wasn’t their hideout. It was the hideout of whoever they were looking for.

Raiden continues further into the warehouse, turning a corner sharply when a cyborg comes dangerously close to spotting him. It’s times like this that he’d kill for an oil drum or cardboard box.

What he sees in the room he finds himself in is not something he’d necessarily expected. On the floor he sees a tattered sleeping bag surrounded by all sorts of junk food wrappers and takeaway boxes as well as an alarming amount of empty alcohol bottles. Too much for a human to have been drinking in the past week, and not nearly enough for a human to have been eating. But… Maybe…

“Ma’am, we’ve found an intruder in the warehouse, a cyborg.” Raiden twists on the spot, immediately at arms, his sword drawn into a defensive stance across his body as more cyborgs come funnelling into the small room. Not good. He’s cornered in a very tight spot. Instantly he’s calculating exactly how he can get out of this room and into the more open space in the centre of the warehouse so that he’s free to move.

“Yes ma’am,” the same cyborg replies to the unheard voice on the other end of the line. Then “you’re dead meat,” he sneers at Raiden, raising and arm and indicating to the other cyborgs to attack.

Raiden springs into action.

-

Sam’s exhausted, but the cyborgs keep coming. He falters as one attacks, and is sent flying across the street as a fist meets his right eye. He tries to correct himself mid tumble, but only manages to scuff up his knees and hands. Now it really is his blood that he’s covered in. For some reason, that almost fills him with a twisted sense of pride. He clenches his teeth, a gruesome mix of a grimace and smirk. 

When he finally manages to stand, he’s surrounded on all sides except behind him, where his back is pressed against the cold stone of a building.

He has no choice but to spring back into action.

-

Raiden swings his sword with ease, swiftly disposing of three cyborgs before they’ve even thought about moving. This gives him an opening to escape through, so that he can go into the central room, a big enough area for his acrobatic style of fighting.

When there, a cyborg shoots without warning, but Raiden, ever quick in his actions, deflects immediately, managing to send a few stray bullets to the other approaching enemies, downing them efficiently. He rushes towards the one that’s shooting and disarms her. Literally. He cuts her arm off. He attaches his sword to his foot and slices her in half whilst bending backwards and using his knife to stab a cyborg that was approaching from behind. Almost without looking he manages to stab him in the heart with pinpoint accuracy.

It's efficient, the way he fights. Like a dance that he's been learning for his whole life. A twisted ballet. Sleek, beautiful, mesmerising. But it's no less animalistic because of that. He's snarling, baring his teeth, growling when he thrusts his sword. He delights in the way the spines crush so easily between his grip, the way that they flood him with the closest feeling that he’s had to pleasure in years. But he's clean in the way that he does this. Methodical. Tactical. There's not a drop of blood or electrolytes spilled. When one area becomes strewn with bits of bodies, he moves to another open area, constantly calculating what to do next.

-

The same cannot be said for the cyborg across town. On the other side of Denver, surrounded by blood that's now mixing with his own dripping from his stomach, Sam falters and falls. He's surrounded. He has nowhere to turn. The best thing that he can do now is find an opening and flee.

"This is the idiot that Madame wants us to bring back? The cyborg that we've heard so much about?" The gruff cyborg, clearly the leader of this particular pack, kicks Sam directly in his open wound as if to punctuate a point. "The great Samuel Rodrigues that's got us all worked up..." He spits in Sam's face. "Pathetic. I would have thought that this would be more of a challenge."

Sam grunts, smiling. "The challenge is only just beginning," he says, coughing out a chuckle and straining to use his sword to help him stand.

The cyborg barks out a laugh, tilting his head so he's looking down his nose at Sam like the piece of shit that he already knows he is. "Look. He thinks he can still win."

Standing, doubled over and clutching his stomach, leaning heavily on his sword, Sam spits out blood before replying "Oh, I know I can."

"Oh, we'll see about that. As you know, Jetstream Sam... You have a cause to die for."

Sam sees red.

-

Raiden stands, surrounded once more but ever considering what to do next. Who to kill first and how. The many escape routes that he can see should he need them. There aren't many enemies left now, though. It would probably be best if he just dispatched them as quickly as possible. So, for the final time, he gathers his wits, assumes his stance, and does what he has always done best.

He murders the motherfuckers in cold blood.

-

When Sam comes to his senses, it's over. It's all finally over. Sam's won. He really didn't think that he would for a moment there. But he did it. He did it. He's alive. Barely.

He picks himself up from the floor again, carefully removing his sword from the brutalised body next to him and wiping it clean on his arm. When he finally gets to standing upright, he manages to take a few steps before doubling over and violently vomiting. He stares as it mixes with the blood, marbling and swirling into an interesting pattern of red and brown. He contemplates just what the hell he's going to do next. He can't go back to the warehouse, he at least knows that much, has learned that much from the number of times that he’s had to find a new hideout in the last few weeks. But... after what happened... there's no way he can go back to the only person who might be able to help him. The one who gave him the shirt he's wearing. The one who, for some completely unknown reason, is the only person in the world that Sam wants to see right now.

But he can't.

He can't. It wouldn't be right.

Besides, Sam is probably the last person that Raiden wants to see right now.

Collecting himself, he hobbles shakily to the nearest structure, using the wall to help keep him upright, spreading bloody handprints in his wake. He knows that he needs to be careful. He knows that he shouldn’t be leaving a trail. But there’s no way that he can stand upright on his own anymore. 

Looking out towards the horizon, he notices how the world spins and blurs around him.

_Jack..._

He can't think of anything else.

He has to go on.

He has to apologise.

He has to see him one last time.

But he knows that he can’t.

-

It's 11pm and Raiden’s just about comfortable in his bed, reading what he can make sense of from _Contos Da Carochinha_ when he hears a knocking at the door. Confused and more than a little bit irritated, he makes sure to place the book down on his bedside table with great care, and throws on the closest shirt and pair of boxers. It may be late enough that he doesn’t care who sees him in his skin, but he’s not exactly one for opening the door stark naked.

The knocking at the door ceases, replaced by a loud groan and thud. When Raiden opens it, he only has a split second to stop the man from falling.

“Sam?” he questions, staring down at the bruised and battered man leaning against him for support. Sam grips Raiden’s arm, spreading mostly dried blood all down it. He uses the grip to haul himself up enough so that he can look at Raiden and smile, blood spilling from his mouth, his smile turning to a look of pain before he coughs, doubling over.

“Bonito…” is the only strangled thing that he manages to get out before his entire weight collapses forwards onto Raiden as he falls unconscious.

Raiden panics.

“Sam?”

There’s no response.

“Sam!” he tries again, shaking his body slightly to try to wake him up.

Not even a groan of discomfort.

Raiden lifts him, bridal style, careful not to agitate the many open wounds in his stomach too much, and rushes Sam into his bedroom without so much as a second thought.

When he gets there, he gently places Sam on top of his sheets, some of the blood already seeping into them. Rushing, Raiden goes into the kitchen to get whatever first aid he can scrounge together, along with a pair of scissors.

Returning to his room, he finds Sam barely conscious, breath hitching in pain every time his chest expands, gulping down blood before coughing it back up again.

"What the hell happened to you?!" Raiden asks, gathering his thoughts and items together.

"Cyborgs," Sam barely manages, "ambushed."

"Why?!"

Sam just about moves his shoulders in something that resembles a shrug, face scrunching in pain.

"When?"

"Around 6 this morning."

Raiden, using the wet flannel to dab up some of the dried blood on Sam's face, flinches momentarily. That was when he was...

"And you've been like this ever since?"

Sam grins cockily, his teeth red with blood. "Thought I could handle it."

"It's 11 fucking pm Sam!"

Sam turns his face away. "Well, I was wrong.”

Raiden pulls a chair up to the bed, but before he sits, he sets to cutting off Sam’s shirt.

“No…” Sam complains weakly. “Jack, please. It’s-” he’s cut off by a violent retching, causing his whole body to tense and spasm, Raiden nearly adding another injury to him with the scissors.

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he promises, watching Sam’s pained face relax and light up slightly at the thought of it.

“Ok,” he whispers, eyes drifting, lids drooping.

“Stay with me, Sam,” Raiden urges.

_Please. Don’t go. I’m sorry._

Sam’s eyes flicker to his again as Raiden cuts the straps of Sam’s shirt and down the less blood-sodden side of it, so that he can carefully peel it off. Sam lets out a hiss of discomfort when it practically tears away from the large gash in his stomach. A large gash that had been messily stitched up and reopened. A number of times, by the looks of it. Sam really was wrong in thinking he could handle this by himself. The idiot. He could've gotten himself killed...

_And it would've been your fault... again._

“I know,” Raiden apologises, trying to peel the fabric off with extra care.

Now, without the clothing in the way, Raiden can assess the real damage that has been done. And, just as he’d suspected and feared, it’s a lot worse than it already appeared to be. He's covered in wounds, bleeding heavily and, by the looks of it, internally too. Any normal human would have succumbed by now. Raiden can only thank whatever God might be listening that Sam isn’t a normal human. He sighs, wondering what to do in this situation, before returning his gaze to Sam to give him a weak and not at all reassuring smile.

“Of course you’d make a big fuss out of nothing,” he tries, brain already racing, thinking about the options. He could always… “But, perhaps, to be on the safe side. Maybe I could take you to Maverick. They'll know wha-”

There’s a strong grip on Raiden’s arm then, and Sam lets out a guttural cry of pain before releasing his grip and falling back onto the bed. “No,” he barely manages. “No,” he says again, more firm but still breathless.

Instead of replying, Raiden frowns, and shuffles down to the end of the bed to remove Sam’s shoes and socks. It's difficult, and every little movement seems to agitate something in Sam that causes him to call out in pain.

With shaking fingers, nervous that he might hurt him more than he already has, Raiden moves to Sam’s jeans zipper and waits for Sam's approval, gaining only a gruff chuckle in reply.

“If I’d’ve known you’d be this eager to get me naked and covered in bodily fluids in your bed, I would’ve done this sooner, bonito.”

Raiden’s eyebrow ticks in disapproval, just as Sam’s cocky grin fades and he passes out once more.

Removing Sam’s jeans and patching his beaten and broken body might be slightly easier when he’s unconscious because at least then Raiden doesn’t have to deal with Sam’s irritating teasing. But it’s not exactly easier to manoeuvre his dead weight this way. When Raiden’s putting a bandage over the dressing and stitches on Sam’s stomach, it takes a lot of time and effort to wrap it around him so that there’s enough pressure there to stop the bleeding. And putting Sam’s clearly broken arm in a sling is equally as tasking. In fact, dressing his scraped knees and the small cut on his hip is probably the least arduous task that Raiden faces whilst tending to Sam for the next two hours.

When he’s done, he looks over Sam’s patched up body, the bruises left uncovered, the dried blood that Raiden couldn’t quite get off with the wet flannel. He notices the still pained but slightly more relaxed look on Sam’s face and the way that his breathing has slowed to something much calmer and even.

Without thinking, Raiden reaches up to brush a few stray blood coated bangs from Sam’s face, his fingertips lingering just below his ear. He tells himself that he’s checking for Sam’s pulse to make sure that that, too, has calmed to a less deadly pace. But it doesn’t stop the strange rush of something that creeps its way into Raiden’s chest.

His fingers trail lower, down past his collarbone, as he lightly traces the burnt scar surrounding the largest of his newer metal plates. The one that he gave him. The one that he caused.

Gently, he places his hand on the plate, sharp and cold, even beneath his dull sensors.

And he hates himself.

He hates how he doesn't feel much remorse or worry or happiness. He hates how he only feels anger, the pure unadulterated rage that comes when his life is on the line. He hates how he can feel pain and fear and fury but not...

He doesn't mean to dig his nails into the plate but he does, clenching his fist.

And he hates. He hates himself. He hates Sam. He hates whatever it is his body is trying but failing to feel.

He. Hates.

Because it’s all that his body is programmed to do.

He hopes that maybe this will offer him some sort of redemption. Maybe patching Sam up will have some sort of karmic resonance. Maybe it will make up for what he did in the Badlands. Maybe Sam can forgive him and, if the universe wanted to give Raiden a miracle, maybe Raiden could forgive himself. Even if it's just for that one thing.

“I’m sorry, Sam.”

He can’t hear him, and if he were to ever ask about it, Raiden would deny it flat out.

But he means it.

-

It’s not long before Raiden falls asleep in the chair, head buried in his arms, resting, as light as a feather, across Sam’s unconscious form.

-

“So you’re telling me that you lost him?”

“Yes ma’am.”

There she sits, in the dilapidated building she calls a palace, on her throne made of obedient hands. She crosses her legs and leans her head in her hand, propped up against her throne’s “armrest”. She contemplates, her eyes not looking at the cyborg in front of her.

“And what are we to do about that, I wonder,” she says in a singsong voice, before her deadly gaze flickers over to the cyborg now trembling before her.

“Please. Ma’am, he didn't respond to-”

She clicks her fingers and two more cyborgs appear to drag the other away, kicking and screaming and pleading with her. “PLEASE!” he cries as she smiles, toothy and wicked.

“It looks like we’ll have to put you through some more training.” The door slams and the shouting fades down the corridor before stopping completely. She sighs dramatically, turning her attention to the other cyborg who had been waiting with nervous anticipation to give her her update. “Such a bore,” she remarks, and the cyborg nods in agreement to try to gain her favour. “Please tell me you at least have some good news for me.”

The cyborg stutters. “Uh…” she begins. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Oh?”

“The other cyborg we faced, the one in the warehouse. We lost him-”

“That doesn’t sound like good news to me,” her tone is fierce, her fingers ready to click at a moment’s notice.

“But we have reason to believe that he has ties to the one you’re looking for.”

Her gaze widens, curious, “describe him to me,” she says, motioning for her to continue.

“He looked almost entirely cybernetic, the only thing that was left was his face and hair, and I’m not sure that they were real either. Even his lower jaw was metallic.”

This piques her interest, and she leans forward, her throne adjusting to better hold her. “You mentioned his hair.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Colour?”

“White ma’am. Almost like snow. Just like his skin.”

She shifts, and the cyborg flinches and tenses like she’s expecting her to click her fingers and make her disappear like so many do. They come back… but they’re never the same again. The cyborg takes a breath.

“You may go.”

“M-ma’am?”

“Leave.”

“Yes ma’am.”

When the door clicks shut she chuckles, leaning back in the throne and repeats “like snow.” She knows exactly who it is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for sticking around for so long. I know it's been over a year. I will be posting an update as to why it took me so long on my Tumblr when I can get around to it.
> 
> Massive thank you to Jack for creating the wonderful art for this chapter. I'm so glad we can finally show it after all this time OTL
> 
> I hope the chap is worth the wait, haha.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to http://theelka.tumblr.com for the wonderful art of this chapter!

[](http://ibb.co/eFTnNx)

He can’t breathe. He can’t see. He can’t move.

He can’t scream.

Sam feels as though he’s drowning. Sinking ever downwards into the endless dark at the bottom of the ocean. He feels a heavy weight on his chest, the pull of something dragging him deeper.

The void beckons him.

And he welcomes it.

When he manages to get his eye open, he sees nothing but black. It’s almost peaceful, he thinks. It feels like death is finally cradling him. Like he might finally get the rest that he’s yearned after for so long.

He flashes hot, a pain circulating through him like he’s been shocked, his body twitching against the resistance of the thick water surrounding him.

He gulps in a breath, choking, spluttering, trying so hard to lessen the weight of his lungs. But all he can do is struggle against the moisture invading him.

The water turns icy cold almost instantaneously, and Sam suddenly misses the shock of the burn that was enveloping him mere moments ago. He tries to clench in agony, but he finds that he can’t even do that. It’s like he’s trying to fight his own body, like his mind is screaming for his muscles to move but they aren’t listening.

Every impulse in him is telling him to fight, every last message that his nerves and nanomachines are sending through him are telling him not to give up.

But he’s so tired.

He wants to rest.

He’s about to close his eyes when a pinprick of light appears in the distance, bright and inviting in the darkness. He tries to move once, twice, three times, before finally he manages to claw his way through the liquid. His chest screams at him, his lungs protesting with every small movement that he makes, but the light gets ever closer and he is suddenly filled with a drive to survive. He feels like if he captures it then maybe he’ll wake up. Maybe he’ll wake up and the last few months will have been a dream. Maybe he’ll wake up and he’ll never have to see Raiden again. He’ll never have hurt him.

As the light gets closer, it begins to grow in size, but not in the same proportion. It’s growing much faster than Sam is approaching it, and he’s swiftly filled with a sense of dread.

The light flashes, blinding Sam and causing him to cower away from the sudden rush of heat. His ears ring, popping with the change in the pressure surrounding him. He manages to double over, clutching at his head in pain, drifting further into the light.

When the pressure dissipates and the ringing subsides, he once more opens his eyes to a dark sea. Except now he’s surrounded by pink tendrils that swirl and surround him, thrashing wildly but twisting almost beautifully. The raw amount of power and energy that they exude is all at once awe inspiring and terrifying. Sam tries to flee but once again finds himself stuck in place, a tendril around each wrist and ankle, holding him in place with its light but firm grip.

The weight on his chest returns, but this time it snakes around the newest panels on his chest, the burnt skin reacting almost immediately.

How he wishes he could scream right now, but his lungs are full of liquid and his throat is being crushed.

The feeling penetrates his chest, seeping and spreading until it comes out the other side of his new plates, his back now getting the same treatment that the front did.

Distantly, he thinks he hears a distorted chuckle, almost singsong in sound if it weren’t for the crackling of static.

The pink removes itself from inside his chest and instead stabs through his temple.

Sam lurches.

“Good boy, Rodrigues,” the lilting static says, “good boy.”

“Such a good boy,” a slightly more familiar voice says.

It can’t be.

“Mamae,” he manages to croak, turning his head just enough to be able to see her.

She places her hand on his forehead and hums a familiar tune, the one she used to sing to him when he’d have a nightmare and wake up crying, begging for his Mamae.

“It can’t be,” he says, turning away from her, tears in his eyes at the mere memory of her.

“Ah. Really, Rodrigues? So rude.” The hand on his forehead claws at and dives into his head, nails digging into his brain as the arm turns pink and swirls, the energy pouring into him.

It’s painful. It’s so fucking painful. But try as hard as he might, he can’t move an inch. He can feel the tendrils on his brain, can feel the way they poke and prod, digging deep and changing the way he feels.

Anger. Pure, unadulterated rage flows through him, followed quickly by a spark of intense pleasure.

“Good boy,” says the lilting voice.

“Stay with me,” echoes another, distant voice. “Sam.”

His brain feels like it’s being shifted around in his head. It feels like things are being taken, others inserted.

“C’mon, Sam. Stay with me.”

“Jack.” It’s gruff, but he manages to get it out.

A sharp pain stabs his brain, and the culprit tuts at him. Above him he sees a figure that snarls out a laugh. He barely manages to make out pink feathers surrounding the figure before everything goes black.

-

Raiden wakes with a start when he realises that there’s a dampness on his face. He sits back in his chair, rising from his position across Sam, and notes that the moisture had come from his skin.

Concerned, he reaches out to touch Sam’s forehead. It’s just as he feared. Sam’s running a deadly temperature, a fever running through his veins.

“Mamae,” Sam whispers out wetly. Was he dreaming of his mother? Was this all just a reaction to some sort of terrible nightmare? A sudden shiver racks its way through Sam’s body, muscles tensing up as if he were being electrocuted.

“Sam?” Raiden whispers, unsure of what to do. The last thing he wants is a repeat of the other night. Or worse, a repeat of what he did to Rose all those years ago. This is exactly the reason why he never let people into his room.

Sam cries out, mouth agape and fists clutching at the bloodied sheets. When he thrashes, Raiden makes to hold him down by his wrists so that he doesn’t agitate his stitches and cause himself more harm than he already has.

“Sam!” he shouts. But there’s no reply, not even the slightest twitch of recognition or acknowledgement on Sam’s face.

Raiden opens his internal interface, running through the many programmes before finally getting to the scan function.

Sam’s vitals would make Raiden feel nauseous if he were capable.

Body Temperature: 106F  
13% loss of water  
3x109 white blood cells per litre of blood  
A resting heart rate of 120bpm  
And an abnormally high amount of nanomachine activity.

If Sam were completely human, he would have died a few times over by now.

Something flashes on Raiden’s interface, and he flicks his fingers to zoom in. There, a small gash on his chest that he must not have thought big enough to tend to. A box pops up next to the flashing area, scanning through words and formulae to try to determine just what’s causing this to happen to Sam.

When it finally stops, so does Raiden’s heart.

Sam’s been poisoned.

By the looks of it it’s a mixture of some sort of neurotoxin to destroy the human parts of Sam and an invasive and aggressive type of nanomachine set to giving Sam some sort of technological virus. Whatever it is, it appears to be doing the trick quite well, as Sam pales and sweats, his teeth grinding in pain.

“Stay with me, Sam” he says, moving to put on some more appropriate clothing so that he can leave the apartment and make his way to the only people who he knows can help them.

He flicks on his internal codec whilst he’s dressing, wasting no time.

“Heya Raiden, what’s u-”

“Courtney I need your help, no questions asked.”

Her demeanour shifts from curious to intensely focused in a split second. “Of course. What do you need?”

“Can you get Doktor in for me?”

“Sure. He’s at home at the moment but I can call him in.”

“Thanks Courtney.”

“Raiden wait,” he’s nearly hung up already, he really doesn’t have the time to chat, not while Sam’s life hangs in the balance. Courtney’s eyes seem to be searching her screen for something. “Your vitals are perfect. I don’t understand-”

“It’s not for me Courtney.”

“So who is it for?”

“We said no questions.” The way it comes out is harsher than he means it to. It’s not Courtney’s fault that Sam was reckless with himself. It’s not Courtney’s fault that Sam is currently lying on his sheets clinging desperately to both the sheets and his own life.

Actually, if it’s anyone’s fault… it’s Raiden’s.

“Right.” Courtney agrees, a flash of a knowing look gracing her face. Because of course Kevin told her about his meeting with an enemy. An enemy that, to the best of Kevin’s knowledge, had quickly become a friend. An enemy that had returned from death.

Raiden locks eyes with Courtney’s through the screen, mouth a hard line, stoic. She seems to understand.

“Thank you, Courtney,” he says almost reverently.

She nods. Then tries to lighten the mood slightly with a cheeky “but you owe me.”

Raiden barely manages a smile. “Put it on my tab.”

She hangs up before he gets the chance to, and by the time the call is over he’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, a coat slung over him haphazardly, his boot laces barely done up.

He makes his way back over to Sam’s side and strokes a hand through his damp hair, once more checking his temperature.

“C’mon Sam. Stay with me.” His other hand goes to Sam’s face, his fingers lingering on his jaw slightly before sliding down to his neck to check his pulse.

“Jack,” Sam whispers out, a moment of relief on his otherwise pained face, before he screams again, eyes flying open.

“Sam. It’s me. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Sam’s eyes seem unfocused, hazy. They flicker around, eyelids blinking rapidly, as Sam struggles to take in air.

“It’s me,” Raiden repeats, trying to ground Sam in reality.

His eyes sharpen and flick to Raiden. At first it seems as though he’s looking straight through him, or as if maybe he doesn’t recognise him at all. But then all at once Sam’s intense focus is boring into Raiden, contemplating him.

“Jack,” he smiles, eyes drooping again a little.

“Yeah. It’s me.” His hand is still in his hair, his other comes up to cup his chin. He’s trying to get Sam to focus on him just a little bit more so that he understands what’s about to happen. “Listen to me. I’m taking you to Maverick-”

Sam’s eyes widen in fear, and, somehow, he manages to get paler. “No. Jack.”

“Yes, Sam. I’m taking you to see Doktor.”

“But.”

“You’ve been poisoned, Sam.”

Sam gawks at him, the realisation setting in. The reason why he feels like he is dying is because he actually is dying. “Oh…” is all he manages to say in response.

“Yeah, oh,” Raiden says, ticked off at Sam’s apparent lack of ability to care. “You nearly went and got yourself killed just from wounds alone. Which, by the way, I spent the best part of my night patching up, only to find out that you’ve been infected with a neurotoxin and a literal computer virus.”

“What?”

“Someone managed to get their own brand of nanomachine into your bloodstream. They’re killing you from the inside out.”

Raiden helps Sam to sit up before draping the coat over his shoulders, thinking that it will better serve Sam’s nearly naked body more than it’s serving his own fully clothed one. Raiden picks up Sam’s arm from the sling and carefully brings it across his shoulder, urging Sam to spin his legs over the side of the bed so that he can stand up. The deadweight of him that Raiden had experienced the night before is nothing compared to this. He could swear that he’s lifted Metal Gears lighter than Sam is right now.

Sam rises slowly, shakily. His bare feet struggle to find purchase on the carpet, toes trying to dig in to the fabric as his knees give way beneath him. Thanks to Raiden, he doesn’t fall, but he does succeed in agitating some of the stitches in his stomach.

Raiden shuffles so that he’s in front of Sam, keeping him up with his hands against his chest. His grip slides down, brushing past Sam’s hips. Sam’s voice hitches and he places a shaky hand on Raiden’s shoulder to stop himself from falling.

“Shit, sorry,” Raiden says, misunderstanding the situation slightly. “Didn’t mean to hurt you, I just want to tie the coat up.”

Sam appears to be amused by this, but he doesn’t offer an explanation as to why.

Raiden makes to move away but is stopped by Sam’s firm grip on his shoulder.

“If you move, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stay upright, Jack,” Sam warns, eyes losing their focus again.

“I can’t take you out there without your shoes on, it’s freezing,” Raiden replies.

Raiden contemplates setting Sam back down on the bed and putting his shoes on for him, but he doubts his ability to pick him back up again afterwards, as well as Sam’s ability to stay alive long enough to get his shoes on. 

Raiden picks him up once again, one arm supporting his knees, the other supporting his neck.

“My hero,” Sam quips.

“Shut up or I’ll drop you right here and leave without you,” Raiden replies.

Sam chuckles at this, and it lifts some of the tension out of Raiden slightly, knowing that he’s well enough to start irritating him again.

It doesn’t take Raiden long before he’s out the front door, keys, Sam’s boots, and Sam’s once more lifeless body in his grasp.

-

The drive to Maverick shouldn’t be as stressful as it is. It seems almost impossibly long, like every red light and intersection is out to get Raiden. The pause gives his thoughts time to race and fester. Like how all of this is his fault. Like how much he hates himself for what he’s done. Like how Sam is on the verge of death by his hand for the second time.

Raiden’s grip is tight on the wheel every time Sam so much as breathes harshly. If it weren’t for the fact that he was trying to be as careful as possible not to alert authorities and also not to jostle Sam around too much in the back seat, Raiden would be racing through stop signs and around corners as quickly as his car and the laws of physics would allow him.

As it is, he still makes it to Maverick in a shockingly short amount of time, and before he knows it, he’s kicking his way through the front doors and shouting for help.

Courtney is the first to spot him as he rounds the corner, and she stops dead in her tracks when she sees just who Raiden is carrying.

“Is that-”

“He’s been poisoned. Take me to Doktor.”

“Raiden-”

“Courtney! No questions!”

Either his tone is commanding enough or the desperation in his eyes is pleading enough, but Courtney asks no more questions as she calls Doktor on her codec and leads the way into the nearest operating room.

Raiden lays Sam out on the table as carefully as possible and quickly unwraps the coat from him. “Here,” he says bluntly, pointing at the wound in Sam’s chest. He can’t quite find the words, and if Sam’s life wasn’t in danger and he had a moment, he’d think about why he’s being so affected by this. As it is he just continues his short explanation to Courtney, “both a neurotoxin and a deadly type of nanomachine have been introduced into his system. Can you help?”

“Samuel Rodrigues?” Doktor’s voice asks incredulously from behind Raiden.

“Can you help him?” Raiden replies, his hands gripping the table so hard that it bends slightly beneath his grip.

“Yes,” replies Doktor, coming around the other side of the table and taking a long look at Sam. “But I’m going to need a little space.” His eyes flick to Courtney, who understands immediately.

“C’mon, Raiden. He’s in good hands now.” She places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

Raiden sighs, letting some of the pent up tension out of his body, “you’re right.” His fingers twitch on the table. He wants to reach out. He wants to let Sam know that it’s going to be okay. He wants, so much, to just lay a hand on his forehead and suddenly cure him. Instead he takes one last breath, and makes to leave the room in solemn silence, Courtney guiding him with her hand on the small of his back. Before he makes it through the door he pauses and turns, sternly grunting out “fix him,” and leaving the room.

-

There’s a long and pregnant silence when they both sit on the bench outside of the operating room. Raiden’s staring at his feet, hands clenched on his knees. Courtney’s clearly thinking of the best way to start her line of inquiry as she picks at her fingers and doesn’t look in Raiden’s direction once in the five minutes before she speaks.

“So…” she begins. Their eyes connect, Raiden looking forlorn, Courtney trying and failing not to look awkward. She clears her suddenly dry throat. “Are you gonna explain what’s going on?”

Raiden breaks his eye contact and sighs into his hands, before running them back through his hair. He leans back on the bench and plants his head on the wall behind it with a soft thud. He looks to the ceiling, hoping it would open up and give him all of the answers that he needs. Either that or it could swallow him whole, that would be great too.

It doesn’t do either of those things. He feels like he’s about to get berated by his mother. Which is a strange thing to feel, considering he doesn’t know what that’s like. But Courtney’s always had this quiet power in her, like she could snap at any moment and kill a man…

Actually, Raiden’s seen that happen, so he wouldn’t put it past her to kill him where he was sitting right now. He’d almost welcome it. Death at the hands of one of his bosses doesn’t sound as bad as having to explain that Sam’s been alive since August 2018 and living with Raiden since November 2019.

He takes another moment before beginning to explain.

Courtney’s reaction is about as good as Raiden thought it was going to be. There’s… a lot of shouting before she seems to tire and give up, instead grilling Raiden for answers. Throughout, Courtney keeps asking questions that he doesn’t have the answer to. “Why?” is the most difficult one for him to wrap his head around.

“I don’t know,” he replies. He’s standing now, pacing with his anxiety. It’s a mixture of worry over Sam and nervousness of Maverick finding out about his secret roommate of 3 months. “We just talked and…” Raiden raises his hands in frustration. He really doesn’t understand how they got to this place. When Sam made himself known, Raiden was so ready to gladly end his life a second time. And now the thought of losing him filled him with so much dread that he was on the verge of feeling something human again.

“How do you know that he’s not stringing you along?”

Raiden stops pacing, his loosely laced boots squeaking on the tiled floor. “I don’t.” He replies in a whisper. He looks at her then and there’s an unreadable look on her face.

“I don’t understand.”

Raiden scoffs at this. “Yeah, neither do I.”

“Hey, Raiden. What’s up?”

Oh shit. Kevin.  
Raiden and Courtney’s eyes both widen with the knowledge that Kevin is about to tear Raiden a new one. If Raiden believed in a God, he’d be praying for his death to be quick and painless but to at least come soon so that he could get himself out of this situation.

Raiden lets out a nervous chuckle before shakily saying “hey, Kev.”

Kevin takes a moment, staring at Raiden. He then looks at Courtney, who looks away and whistles nonchalantly as she admires the cracks in the ceiling.

“What?” Kevin asks, his gaze returning to a tight lipped Raiden. “Do I have something on my face?” he says, chuckling at his stupid joke before bringing his coffee cup up to his lips and taking a long sip.

So… Raiden explains. Or, at least, he tries to, but he doesn’t get very far before Kevin’s mug slips from his hand and smashes into pieces on the floor, ceramic and coffee going everywhere.

They all just sort of… stare at it for a long moment. As if perhaps it holds the answers to everything that’s happened over the last year and a half, or at least the last 5 minutes.

“The-” Kevin starts, taking a moment to rub his eyes with his hand. “The-” he begins again, but he seems so overwhelmed with rage and confusion that he can’t quite get the sentence out.

“Yeah,” Raiden offers uselessly.

“The enemy you told me about 3 months ago-” his fingers remove themselves from his eyes and his gaze flickers up to Raiden’s. And fucking hell if looks could kill then Raiden would be dead a few thousand times over. “Is the very same man who tried to destroy the world a year and a half ago?”

Raiden swallows, “uh-”

“And you’re telling me,” Kevin’s voice is dangerously low and he slowly approaches Raiden. “That he’s in there and instead of killing him for good this time, we’re trying to fix him?”

Raiden’s like a deer caught in the headlights. “Yeah.”

“Oh, yeah, sweet, cool, no problem dude,” Kevin laughs, slapping Raiden on the shoulder. Raiden nearly gets whiplash from the change in tone and mood. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Courtney plug her ears with her fingers.

Stupidly he asks, “really?”

To which Kevin practically explodes “ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS?” Kevin plants his face in his hand again, his other hand still clinging on to Raiden’s shoulder like he’s some sort of lifeline. Like maybe the thought process that Raiden went through to be ok with Sam’s sudden reappearance will travel out through his shoulder and into Kevin’s body via osmosis. “Okay,” Kevin says. He looks like he’s about to pass out. Raiden considers taking him to one of the beds in med bay. Or he would if he wasn’t frozen to the spot in fear. 

Kevin sighs for what feels like the 15th time in as many minutes. “I’m sure that you have a way to explain this.”

At this, Courtney also returns her questioning eyes back to Raiden.

Raiden looks away from the both of them, looking to the blank white wall for help. He tries to blink the thoughts into his brain a few times before he slowly begins.

“I guess-” he faulters and it all clicks into place for him. Well, almost all of it. “It’s because I saw myself in him.” When he looks back at Kevin’s face, he hopes to convey how difficult this is for him to open up like this. Kevin’s face is still stern, his grip still firm on his shoulder, but something softens and urges Raiden to continue. “He told me about his past.” The past that Kevin has read about. How he started with avenging his father but then moved on to be some sort of vigilante seeking justice in an unjust world. Kevin’s grip twitches and his face flashes with a glimmer of understanding. “He told me about how he joined Desperado because he had no other choice, about how he killed for them and hated every second of it and I-” Raiden struggles, “I’ve been there, y’know?”

Kevin’s hand slips from Raiden’s shoulder and his face drops, still confused but less accusatory. “Raiden,” he says softly.

“I thought that if I, with all of my troubled past, with all of the blood of innocent lives on my hands, deserved a fourth chance then he at least deserves a second one.”

The hallway is quiet then as they all let the pressure of that admission sink down around them. The atmosphere feels uncomfortably hot and close. Raiden’s lungs feel like they’re filling with sand and his hands feel heavy by his sides.

Kevin shuffles over to sit next to Courtney on the bench. She places a comforting hand on his back, thumb stroking him softly.

“You’re right,” Kevin admits, looking up at Courtney for confirmation. She seems to be in the same boat here, a wave of understanding having washed over her. They’ve all had their second chances in one way or another. Kevin huffs out a breath. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t,” Raiden cuts him off, a weak smile on his face as if to say, ‘Don’t apologise, it’s ok. I get it. We’re all a little confused and emotional right now.’

“It’s gonna take us some time to trust him,” Courtney says. Her jaw is still a little tense, like the anger and upset at Raiden keeping this a secret is still flowing through her.

“Yeah, I get that,” agrees Raiden. “I don’t even know whether or not I trust him yet.”

Courtney and Kevin have a moment of eye contact then as if they want to say otherwise, but they don’t pick him up on it.

-

Meanwhile, in the other room, and completely oblivious to everything that’s going on out in the hallway, Doktor works away on Sam, trying his hardest to keep up with the ever evolving nanomachines that are slowly and painfully killing him. The toxin was easy enough to remove, but this is proving to be a little more challenging. Whoever came up with this type of nanomachine must be devilishly smart. He takes a small sample from Sam’s body and makes a note to study them at a later date before setting back to curing the man.

-

Kevin and Courtney have long since left Raiden to stew in his own thoughts. It’s been a good few hours now and he’s on the verge of once more considering his role in Sam’s second death when he hears the door click open. Immediately he’s on his feet, watching as Doktor wheels Sam out on the table.

Sam’s head rolls weakly so that he can look at Raiden. “Jack,” he smiles wetly. “Hello.”

Raiden’s at his side at once, a hand on his chest as he moves with him and Doktor into the resting room of med bay. Raiden smiles at Sam, his other hand moving to the top of his head and very lightly stroking his hair. Although, he would argue that his fingers slipped. “Hey,” he whispers back, moving away momentarily so that Doktor can shuffle him into one of the comfortable beds. He’s only gone from his side for a split second before he returns.

Doktor clears his throat.

“How is he?” Raiden asks, startling back from Sam as if he’s just realised that Doktor is still there and not just some force moving Sam around.

Doktor squints for a second, trying to work out just what the hell is going on before replying, “he is perfectly healthy.” Raiden feels a weight slip off his shoulders and roll down his back before escaping out through his unclenching toes. “He’s going to need to take some time to recover, definitely at least a week. Those nanomachines really did a number on him. It was quite intriguing, actually.” Doktor pauses, his mouth open like he’s going to say more, like he’s on the verge of questioning Raiden. But he takes one look at them both and decides against it. Instead he makes to leave, adding in “he needs his rest, Raiden. You shouldn’t remain for too long.”

Raiden hears but he does not listen, instead pulling up the nearest chair and plopping down into it, the residual stress leaving his body as he relaxes back into the chair.

Another long silence permeates the air but Raiden feels a lot less uncomfortable in this one.

“Hello,” Sam says again, the smile returning to his face.

“Hey,” Raiden replies once more, “How’re you feeling?”

Sam chuckles but it’s abortive because he agitates a bruise. “Like shit to be honest with you, Bonito.”

Raiden lets out a very half-hearted “don’t call me that,” before Sam continues on.

“I feel like I died again. Like I’ve been brought back from death once more… and I’m not sure how to feel about that.”

“Yeah,” Raiden whispers, an understanding look on his face.

The silence cradles them again, enveloping them in a comfortable warmth. It’s a short while before Raiden breaks it again, his thoughts starting to bleed through into reality.

He tries to make them into a joke but… “I almost lost you.” _Again_ , he thinks. _And it would have been my fault again_. Try as he might to put up bravado, it appears as though Sam sees straight through him. Gently, he places his hand on Raiden’s knee, wincing slightly at the way the movement pulls on his stitched up skin.

As if by some miracle, instead of picking up on Raiden’s current state of mind, Sam turns into his usual jokey self. “And what a terrible world this would be if it lost me!” He winks at Raiden, but the hand on his knee squeezes gently before the warmth is forcibly removed at the sound of someone knocking at the door.

“May we come in?” Questions Kevin’s voice.

Raiden worries at his lip and looks to Sam for confirmation, after all this could all just go horribly wrong right now, and Sam’s in no shape to defend his right to live. Sam looks equally as concerned, he knows that this could be make or break for him, but he nods his head anyway.

“Yeah, Kev, of course,” Raiden says, not even daring to turn to look at the door. Everything could come crashing down in this one moment, and he’d much rather pretend that it won’t than face the facts.

Kevin and Courtney both enter the room in dead silence, still not quite sure what to make of the whole situation. By the time they reach Sam’s bedside, Raiden feels like he’s going to faint because of the lack of air that he’s taken in.

“Uh…” Kevin starts.

Raiden tenses more than should be possible.

Sam freezes, eyes wide.

“How you feeling?”

 _Wait, what?_ Raiden blinks his surprise. That’s… not what he expected at all.

“Uh…” Sam mimics, mouth agape, flapping as it searches for the right words. “Like I’ve had the majority of my body cut open and like my insides have been rearranged?” It comes out like a question because Sam really can’t figure out where this situation is going.

“Oh…” Kevin says. The room falls under a very uncomfortable silence for a good 20 seconds before Kevin concludes “that sucks.”

Sam’s on the verge of pinching himself to make sure that this isn’t some crazy dream or another nightmare that’s lulling him in with a false sense of security.

“Okay,” Courtney begins, “this is driving me crazy. I’m just gonna go ahead and address the elephant in the room here and just ask what the fuck exactly is going on because Raiden’s tried to explain it and yeah I get it but…” Courtney grasps for words and shrugs her shoulders, letting out such an emphatic sigh that Raiden thinks she’s about to deflate. “There’s still a lot missing.”

“Well,” Sam starts.

He talks vaguely about waking up in Brazil, about how he lost his way due to not knowing why he was brought back when he was so ready to finally feel the freedom that death had promised him. He reminisces about how he welcomed his death at the hands of Raiden, how he knew that it was coming and recorded that message for him on Bladewolf.

“I… I don’t regret dying that day,” he says, looking into Raiden’s eyes to make sure he’s listening to what he’s saying. Raiden breaks his gaze almost immediately, confusion and anger clouding his mind. Sam’s eyes return to Kevin and Courtney as he brings his explanation to a close. They’re still standing, but they look a lot more comfortable than they did when they came in to the room. “It was the only way I could think of to wash all of that innocent blood off of my hands.” Raiden lets out an abortive grunt, and for a quick moment all eyes land on him before flittering back to Sam. Courtney’s hand falls to take Kevin’s, looking for comfort. “As I said to Jack when we met a few months ago, I never wanted to work for World Marshall or the Desperados. Actually, I came to Denver to destroy them…” He pauses for a moment to turn his gaze away from everyone in the room. He hates himself for what he did. He hates himself for what he became.

There’s a warmth on his arm, and when he turns he sees Raiden’s hand tentatively comforting him. His face is stone cold, in all of its Raiden glory, but it’s the thought that counts. Kevin’s eyes twitch at the movement. Sam continues his story.

“I was a vigilante, I knew that, but I still tried so hard to just target the people who were corrupting this world. In the end… I became the thing that I was fighting against.” He chuckles glumly. “All because I was too afraid to die at the hands of Armstrong, a man who I’d deemed unworthy to take my life.”

There’s another moment where nobody really knows what to say next. None of them make eye contact. The only sound in the room is the soft hum of the tiny machine that’s tracking all of Sam’s vitals.

Sam lets out a hearty chuckle, “But then pretty boy here showed up.”

“Ugh,” Raiden groans, punching Sam in the arm. “I told you not to call me that.” His face might show annoyance, but his voice is lighter than it has been all day.

That’s when the penny drops for Courtney, and she squeezes Kevin’s hand, who squeezes back in acknowledgement.

“How rude! I’m sick, you know!” Sam coughs limply. But Raiden just raises his fist again in annoyance, threatening. “Fine. Jack here showed up.”

Kevin’s grip flitters, and Courtney looks up at him.

Raiden drops his hand back onto Sam’s arm, Kevin whispers in Courtney’s ear.

“Ah, I knew you were the one for me,” Sam jeers, earning another soft punch from Raiden. He’ll wait until Sam is better before he beats the shit out of him for manipulating him into killing him in cold blood. He’s still kind of not over that. But the way that they’re talking about it right now makes the whole situation sound so silly that he forgets his guilt for long enough to actually crack a smile.

Courtney thinks that she’s going crazy when she sees Raiden smile, and nearly faints.

Raiden and Sam are drawn out of their conversation and to the movement on the other side of the room.

“Uh…” Kevin offers up helpfully. “Courtney and I are just going to go outside for a sec and just talk a few things over.” He manages, by the skin of his teeth, to make it not sound like a question and makes a mental note that Courtney owes him big time as he ushers her out of the room.

Sam and Raiden blink after them before Raiden lets out a small huff of amusement. “They think I don’t know but they’re not exactly subtle about it.”

Sam just lets out a sound of agreement.

They share a comfortable amount of time talking and laughing before Sam visibly begins to tire and Raiden knows that he should let him rest.

“Right,” he says, standing from the chair. “I should, uh, probably let you get some sleep.”

He barely manages to make it one step before Sam grips his arm to stop him. “Stay,” he says. When Raiden looks down at him, he’s surprised to see just how vulnerable Sam looks, how open and uncharacteristically shy he’s being. And it makes Raiden a little uncomfortable with the intensity with which Sam looks into his eyes. And yet, he can’t look away. “Please… don’t leave.”

After a short pause, Raiden sighs and tries to relieve some of the uneasiness of the situation by jokingly saying “you really are just a big baby, huh?”

Sam cottons on. It’s like he already knows all of Raiden’s defence mechanisms and understands that the best thing to do is to play along. He smiles before he coos like a young baby.

Raiden’s face falls as he returns to his stoic self. “Please, God, never do that again.”

“Promise – IF…” Sam, ever the flamboyant showman, pauses for emphasis “you promise to stay here with me.”

Raiden tries so hard but he can’t help the smile that cracks through his demeanour. “Deal.” He says, and makes to move again. Sam’s hand slips to his, almost seamlessly fitting into place and giving it a squeeze.

“Now what are you doing?”

“Sealing the deal with a handshake.”

“Pretty shitty for a handshake.”

“I’m sick!”

“And how long are you going to be using that stupid excuse for?”

Sam purses his lips, “Let’s see… what did Doktor say? Oh, yeah, at least a week.” He grins, big and toothy.

Raiden just stares at him before rolling his eyes. “I’m gonna go get something to eat real quick, do you want anything?”

Sam shakes his head and allows his hand to slip from Raiden’s as he watches him leave. When he’s gone, he places his hand over his face and groans into it. “Shit…”

-

“Heya Courtney, I’m going to get something to eat from down the road, did you want anything?” Raiden says as he passes Courtney in the hallway, looking like a woman on a mission. Raiden’s too focused on his task at hand to clock Courtney’s concentrating face.

“Nah, I’m good, thanks. You go ahead though.” She stops long enough to say, before continuing on her journey down the corridor to her destination.

When Raiden returns, it’s only 20 minutes later and with steaming hot Chinese food, something that should keep him going for the whole week considering how little he needs to eat. On his journey back, he bumps in to Kevin.

“Hey, man, smells good. What you got?”

“Sweet and sour chicken.”

“Ah. A classic.” He’s smiling but it doesn’t look quite right. He’s fidgeting as if he has something else to say but doesn’t quite know how to say it.

“What is it?” Raiden asks, patiently.

Kevin makes a few false starts, trying to find how to start what he wants to say. “Just…” a whole word manages to make its way from his mouth. It’s certainly a start. “Be careful about Sam.”

Raiden looks confused for a moment, because he’s not stupid. It’s not like he’s suddenly going to completely trust this man with his life. But he knows that Kevin’s just trying to look out for him. No matter how unneeded that worry is, it’s nice to know that he has friends who are looking out for him. “I know, Kevin. Don’t worry. I’m keeping a close eye on him and if he turns again I won’t hesitate to do what’s needed.” He hopes it never will be needed. He’s grown quite fond of Sam’s presence over the last few months. But he’s always wary of everyone, not just his past enemies. There’s only few people that he’s perfectly comfortable to let his guard down around, and all three of them live together in a small cabin with an over-abundance of huskies.

“That’s… not what I’m talking about.”

That makes Raiden step back a little in confusion. “I’m not sure I follow.”

“Are… are you being serious?” Kevin searches Raiden’s face for any sign that he could be joking. Nothing. “Oh my god… you are being serious. Okay,” he sighs, seeming defeated. “Have you seen the way he looks at you?”

Now Raiden really isn’t following. He feels like he’s turned all the pages in a book at once and landed on the back page where it just reads ‘The End’ and he’s none the wiser of the contents that book held. “I don’t understand what you’re saying. Are you trying to tell me that he looks at me as an enemy?”

Kevin just stands there looking dumbstruck. If he didn’t have a death wish he’d take Raiden by the shoulders and shake him violently to try and get his meaning through his thick skull. Instead he just says, voice wavering with his disbelief of Raiden’s utter dense stupidity “for someone who can analyse exactly how a fight between you and 40 cyborgs will pan out in 10 seconds flat, you have real trouble seeing something that’s right in front of you.”

Raiden takes a moment, trying to understand what he’s saying. He knows that he can be dense at times, but he really is struggling to find out just what Kevin is trying to hint at here. Besides… not everything that’s right in front of him gets missed.

“You say that but I think it’s pretty obvious that you and Courtney have been dating for a while,” he says, smirking his victory. That’s something that didn’t completely pass him by.

“Uh huh… and how long have you known about that?” Kevin asks, not seeming shocked or upset by Raiden knowing.

“Probably about 5 months.”

Kevin pinches the bridge of his nose. He feels like he’s having a fucking aneurism. God, he needs to sit down. “Raiden…” he begins, “Courtney and I have been dating for nearly a year and we’ve not exactly been secretive about it recently.”

Oh…

“Oh…”

“Yeah.” Kevin takes in a breath and lets it out, dropping his hand from his face and placing it on Raiden’s shoulder. “Just… promise me you’ll be careful about Sam.”

Whatever it is Kevin’s warning him about, it seems pretty serious. So Raiden just nods and says, “I will, Kevin. I promise.”

With one last pat on his shoulder, Kevin nods and walks away silently, leaving Raiden to continue on his journey back to the resting room.

He’s about to open the door when Courtney’s face appears.

He doesn’t know exactly why she was in there with Sam, but he has no reason to suspect that she was up to anything harmful. “Hello Courtney.”

“Heya Raiden,” she says, smiling sheepishly. She closes the door behind her. “Uh… smells good! What ya got there?”

Raiden clocks on quicker this time. “What is it?”

“Yeah, what do you have in the takeout bag?”

“No, I mean, what do you need to say to me?”

Courtney forces out a chuckle. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Raiden just… stares at her. She raises her hands in mock defeat.

“I just… it’s nice, you know?”

Raiden doesn’t know, and he shakes his head to say so.

“You look so comfortable and happy.”

Raiden, once more, is completely taken aback by his friend’s words. “I… okay I’m really not following.”

Courtney looks shocked for a moment before a wave of understanding runs through her. She smiles. Perhaps this hint will work. “You realise you’re wearing your skin, right?”

Raiden looks down, and sure enough, there it is. Uncovered and for everyone to see. He’d completely forgotten to change out of it when he was rushing here, and, in all of the commotion, hadn’t even realised. He hadn’t even cared or felt uncomfortable or worried about anyone staring.

He looks back up at Courtney, shock and awe apparent on his face. Courtney just gives him a pat on the shoulder and then manoeuvres her way around him so that she can disappear down the safety of the hallway.

Raiden takes another moment to take in his skin. How could he have gone so long without noticing that he was in it? Why did it take someone else pointing it out to him for him to realise? This has happened before, and recently. What was it that was causing him to do this? The only reoccurring factor was…

Just when he feels like he’s on the verge of understanding, he hears a gruff “are you gonna stand out there all night or are you gonna come inside and actually keep me company?” from inside the room.

He chooses the latter, of course, his train of thought instantly forgotten.

When Raiden is settled in his chair and has taken a few large mouthfuls of his Chinese, he tells Sam about his run in with Kevin. “He told me to be careful about you.”

Sam gasps in mock pain “Oh! I’m so hurt! Telling you not to trust your ex-enemy.”

They both laugh at that, because it really is stupidly obvious. “I know, weird, right?”

“That’s almost as stupid as what Courtney said to me,” Sam says, a chuckle rumbling its way through his chest.

“What’s that?” Raiden asks through a mouthful of rice.

“She told me that if I hurt you that I was going to, and I quote, ‘Really wish that the poison had killed me’.”

Raiden nearly chokes on his food at that. He manages to swallow through his laughter. “Mmhmm,” he starts, pointing at Sam with his chopsticks, “you better believe her on that one, though. She’s merciless, let me tell you.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

Laughter fills the space between them for a good minute as they really take in the absurdness of everything that’s happened recently, and just how strange Courtney and Kevin are acting.

“God, it’s like they think we’re suddenly going to become the best of friends or something. Like they think I’m going to trust you with my life. I really can’t think of what’s gotten into them.”

 _I’ve seen how you feel about him_ , echoes Courtney’s voice in Sam’s head. His mouth goes dry. He manages a weak chortle. “They have monkeys in their heads.”

He says it with so much conviction that it takes Raiden a while to realise exactly what it is he’s said.

“What the fuck…?”

“It’s a saying, just… just go with it.”

The laughter starts anew.

When their laughter dies and their talk turns to idle chatter, it’s not long before Sam passes out into a deep sleep. Raiden would leave and come back before he wakes, but he feels compelled to stay. So instead he lays down on the nearest bed and lets the sight and sound of Sam’s peaceful slumber lull him to sleep.

-

Kevin’s lying across Courtney’s chest when he speaks. “So… Sam and Raiden, huh?”

Courtney lets out a huff of incredulous laughter. “Yeah, I know…”

Courtney’s hand is tracing soothing circles across Kevin’s back. It’s something that she does when they both need the comfort of something familiar.

Kevin breathes out a long puff of air. “I just hope they know what they’re doing.”

“Yeah,” Courtney agrees, her hand not stopping its trail. “But…” she starts, thoughtful. “Raiden does seem…” she searches for a word that might fit his new cheery disposition, “content.”

Kevin hums, agreeing. “Happy.”

“Yeah… happy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Goodbye it is 3am and I wrote 5.1k of this 8k chapter today


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